My True Social Club

It's been a while since I've been to a local live gig. Pre-minipeople I was a regular at the Annandale, the gaelic club, the Hopetoun and my local The Hollywood. I tried relaying my satisfaction tonight at being in a place that reminded me of the venues of old as I surveyed the surroundings and the felt-hatted clientele of the Newtown Social Club. My 20-something team members looked down at me (somehow I have hired two girls that are both over 6ft) blankly as I reminisced having not heard of any of the classic venues I mentioned. But there I was loving the black everywhere, the eclectic and fascinating crowd, the friendliness that you never find east of the city and I know that even though I'm not the young carefree single swaying into the eyes of the lead singer _ i am at home in beards, pink hair, tattoos, Fedoras and freaks. They are my people, their weirdness is their beauty, their open hearts irresistible, and their creativity their ticket to never a dull moment. Thank you #RollingStoneLiveLodge and gorgeous #Pandora girls for dragging me out of mummyland into the beautiful black filled with the music that is our lives...

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Lover you should have come over - dedicated to Jeff Buckley

18 years ago today I woke to find the only musician that still adorned my walls had died. Music transcends time and it seems like yesterday his flowing, blood-driven voice wrapped itself around my open heart.

I was a backpacker just settled into my first share house in London, my room not much larger than a walk-in robe, lit up with his beauty. At work that day I mourned in isolation, as the middle-class English girls had no clue who I was talking about. Luckily the music journos of the day did and every major newspaper in London had full page spreads set aside telling of the untimely loss of Jeff Buckley. 

Like so many that felt as though he had let them inside his soul, we cried at what we would no longer feel. Without him serenading us, understanding the depths of our heart, it would ache restlessly. We cried because we felt his pain, we knew he'd been abandoned by his father, Tim Buckley, who's own death at 28 meant they never knew each other and met only once for fifteen minutes. We knew his depth threatened to engulf him and fame overwhelm, but we never imagined that he would drown, we all thought he would float and keep singing. 

He will always be my dream brother, and the lines in my head will remain for him, from him.

"So I'll wait for you and I'll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return

Oh, will I ever learn?

Oh, lover, you should have come over

'Cause it's not too late"

Jeff Buckley
November 17, 1966 - May 29, 1997

 

Listen to him here pdora.co/JeffBuckley or to the live interview and performance below

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Actor transforms grown woman into hysterical teenager!

I've always been quite proud to admit I've never been an hysterical fan. When I watch young girls screaming and crying as some slightly talented teenage boys lip-sync in front of them, I often find my top lip involuntarily lifting in disdain... that was until last night... 

This was me inside a slightly older body with darker hair... (key word slightly)

I am lucky enough to work for a corporate sponsor of the Sydney Theatre Company and I therefore get to attend a few opening nights a year. Now this particular opening night was almost going to hit the scrap heap of many of my social possibilities, in favour of sleeping, so as to deal with mr 4 and 5 the next day. Knowing it was Cyrano de Bergerac and Richard Roxborough I thought, in my constant state of exhaustion, "drag yourself along" and so I did. 

As usual the luminescent Cate Blanchett floated past me at the pre-show function, and as in the other few times I have seen her, I admired her Grace Kelly-like elegance, but coolly continued my champers and conversations with my colleagues (that wasn't the case the first time I saw her by the way). 

Looking forward to what turned out to be a great production, I had no idea that the state teenage girls seemingly often find themselves in was my destiny in a few short minutes. The whisper of one of the gorgeous STC staff produced such an effect as the words "Robert Redford" were matched to some other words, namely, "do you know who's here with Cate?". 

My jaw dropped in shock "Nooooo" left my mouth around 4 times as I struggled with this reality, my breath and adrenaline. And there I was morphed within seconds into a fluttering teenage groupie out of control and hell bent on seeing, talking, touching this actor prior to fainting.  

Now just to be clear, I am not the type that gets giddy, I mean I would be completely giggly if Gerard Butler or Ryan Gosling were having a drink within metres of me, but I would probably approach them more for the selfie-fame than because I literally couldn't stop myself. 

Robert Redford on the other hand represented something altogether different, I mean he's in his 70s so it wasn't lust, it was more like my life flashed before my eyes. Don't get me wrong I'm not that old, but I am lucky enough to have a Mum with amazing movie taste and I watched Robert Redford and Paul Newman from a very young age. 

Of course I became Katie in the 'The Way We Were' hopelessly in love with Hubbell, I was also Karen in 'Out of Africa', jelly in Denys' hands, and later after I was married I was Diana and Annie, tempted away from monogamy in 'Indecent Proposal' and 'The Horse Whisperer' by his easy confidence and determination. The guy has been every man I wanted and couldn't have, stringing me along for years and there he was the real representation of my fantastical romantic history, just standing there. Shiiittttt!

Alas social etiquette kicked in and I was held down by two STC staff...well not really but that's how it felt as I was being drawn to him like metal to a magnet. Instead I had to stand still and pretend I was so important myself, being a fellow "VIP" (as if!), that Robert Redford was nothing to me. 

As I walked away from what I knew was my one chance to make a complete ar5e of myself I was philosophical about not getting to hear his unmistakeable voice ... comforting myself that it was for the best and it may have smashed my fantasy about the legend with a less than extraordinary reaction to what would have been a huge foot in mouth moment from me... then I metaphorically slapped myself in the head and began to figure out how I could get another chance! 

So Robert Redford you still may have to endure 2 minutes of raving compliments at some time in your not too distant future. Hopefully it will be fun and flattering - well I can only continue to dream! "Looooooovvvvveeee yoooooooooouuuuuu!" ah argghhh arrrrrrrr *cue hysterics* 

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Yoga - girly pastime or extreme sport?

My gorgeous svelte neighbour got me into Yoga earlier this year and I thought I would go along to relax and chill-out. You know get in touch with my inner self and all that palava, I mean I was kinda desperate being a corporate tragic with two boys under five. Half way through I was dripping with sweat trying to get my arms behind my ears with my arse in the air. It was FULL on. 

Downward facing dog - more like downward facing agony with breathing added in so you don't die. I was shocked! 

And at times when doing planks and upward dogs, downward dogs at speed I took the option of collapsing on my face to recover, the instructor said it was ok and that I was in child pose (she was being nice!)

Although you wouldn't know it to look at me now I was once a rower, I even did surfboats for a season, so I have subjected myself to all sorts torture many times over (6km erg tests are the worst). And unlike the one person in the world that stopped rowing in a race, that happened to happen in the Olympics, I'm like the other 99.99999% of them and never have. So being done in by Yoga, was a little bit of a surprise, albeit (eventually) a pleasant one. 

There is a reason, I discovered, why there are Yoga studios popping up on every single street corner, it is a weird juxtaposition of spirituality and physical exertion that makes it so amazing. What other sport do you feel like your inner being is being worked on while your hamstrings scream in agony. It is completely illogical and completely effective. 

The eagle pose - note the sweat people - hardcore.... 

I was lucky enough to be at a resort for two weeks that had Yoga most mornings so I went along and found that my downward facing dog started to get less agonising even within an hour and a half. I also noticed my shoulders that normally are attached to my ears dropped a little more after each class. My 'question mark' body normally curved around a device was straightening out and turning the other way (?) and it seemed that maybe some more blood was getting to my brain. 

Look my point is quite simply if you are a hardcore cardio tragic and you think Yoga would be too light for your amazing VO2 then think again, it will be right up your alley and it might calm you down at the same time as working the crap out of your bunched up muscles.

Do it peeps - it so rocks, even for rowers, runners, spin-junkies and any other psychotic sport-types. Namaste!

Update: Discovered hot yogi that can only be described as a walking muscle at my local - even happier now!

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How to do the celebrity intercept with substance and no style - Marc Newson

This celebrity behaviour started a long time ago, I think it is somehow related to one of two things: I'm either out of touch with reality so badly that I think they would actually want to talk to a stranger, or the one I prefer, that my reality is they are just human, like me and so why wouldn't they chat to someone friendly with a big smile???!!!! (I think the words "like me" are what's wrong with my justification)

Would you say no to this look? It was 14 years ago but I'm sure I recognise it...

Yet it is what it is and no amount of working out 'why' is going to stop me it seems. The following is the story of my first celebrity intercept, yes this is where all the craziness started, and how I have times be labelled, wrongly I might add, as a stalker (thank you Joe Hildebrand!). 

It all started back in the year 2000, I was heading to a gala evening celebrating the lighting of the Opera House for the first time, this was the father of VIVID. A man I had admired due mainly to his creation of quite a few biomorphic metal objects, was going to be there as he had designed the lighting. And as I had designed the event identity nothing was going to stop me from talking to this gorgeous fellow designer, marc newson. Think gluon, orgone or as I did at the time, embryo...

I think he was wearing orange - can't believe I remember that, I think he was single too. I unfortunately had my then boyfriend there with me, but this was a minor moral bump that I happily skipped over as I approached my idol. "I loved him way before I'd even met my boyfriend" I rationalised. 

I started quite normally explaining my bower-bird-like attraction to his bright shiny objects (we're talking furnishings at this point people) and that I had designed the identity on the flags all over Circular Quay with his 'neon' signature within it. Which he did confirm was a designed identity rather than the real thing, "Oh yeah of course", like I knew that, arggh, it was going well...not. 

Just in case you thought this was a work of fiction. 

Just when it looked like I had escaped an awkward moment, out of the blue and with little context I blurt out "So are you making any money yet?". This does cause him pause, I suddenly see myself through his still, wide eyes and time slows as his thoughts form in a bubble above his head "wow, gold-digging and proud of it, interesting", his turn to spin a little white lie, "a little yes..." 

Mortified by now I try to start explaining at high speed, "Sorry, no, it's just that I watched a documentary a few years ago and you said there was no money in Industrial design and I studied Industrial design but have never practised it because yes there seems to be no money in it, nor any jobs and of course I'm not as talented as you and I was just interested because I only earn..." and on I went, I can't even remember the rest as it blurred into pure desperation transformed into lots and lots of words.  

By now he was smiling, amused by my lack of filter, I can only presume, or maybe impressed by my ability to verbosely back pedal, seemingly make logical sense at the same time as flirting. Our conversation was just levelling out and he was kinda getting friendly, he even complimented some brightly coloured thing I was wearing. Well that's what I was telling myself, when my boyfriend wandered over. Celebrity intercept almost turning into groupie evening foiled, damn. I did the polite thing and introduced them and in true rock star celebrity-style Marc moved pragmatically on. Let's face it there were probably ten of me at every event he went to, and the other nine were quite possibly a lot cooler, inconceivable!? 

The celebrity lesson here? No it's not "don't ask celebrities how much money they make", and it's definitely not "leave them alone you groupie weirdo", I'm sure he was at least entertained. It is without a doubt - if you are going out with someone and you realise you want to go home with Marc Newson instead, chances are you're with the wrong guy. We broke up soon after, but unfortunately not as a result of me running off and living in London on a Lockheed Lounge. Damn!

Fortunately for you there are more stories like this to come - so stay tuned and if you follow my tips I'm guessing you may learn from my mistakes and end of bagging Prince Harry or something... but probably not if you have a couple of kids and are married... we can just dream. 

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How to do the celebrity intercept so they never forget you (but wish they could)

I am one of those annoying members of the public that more often than not will say g'day and start a conversation with a celebrity I admire. Sometimes I get a picture of reality that stops me (and I don't mean a selfie!) but if I've had a wine...no such red flag appears and off I pop.

Not sure if it is my alcohol sozzled brain or just the nervousness I can't fully shake but usually if I do end up striking up a conversation with a famous person, more often than not I say something somewhere between plain embarrassing and truly startling. 

My latest was closer to startling though. Over the weekend when engaging in what was a conversation going in a seemingly charming way with Hugo Weaving, I suddenly stated that Shakespeare's writing was "so bad". Now on its own it was a statement that would silence any room, but I happened to be talking to someone who had just come off the stage and out of the character, Macbeth. 

Hugo Weaving and Andrew Upton as happy as only two thorns between two roses could be...

What I was trying to say obviously in an incomprehensible way was how dirty his writing was and the context was I was surprised that students studied Macbeth as a result, at this point Hugo's smile was replaced with a wtf-type expression, "bad?" he almost exclaimed, and then upon my back pedalling explanation "what's wrong with sex?" he almost barked, at this point my husband was shaking his head and I was saved by another Hugo-admirer who probably thought Shakespeare was quite a talented bloke. Needless to say even with the screams of nipples, loins and blood the play was amazing, but not as amazing as this particular celebrity intercept by me. Bravo!

The one before that was with a man made of equal parts crazy, intelligence and generosity - Joe Hildebrand. Generous 'cause he publishes my better opinion pieces, thank you Joe!!!!! and says things like "I like your blog"... *writer faints from shock*. 

When I was lucky enough to steal half an hour of his time for some real writer to try-hard writer advice, he went so far as to confirm on the phone to his producer, in front of me no less, that I was definitely a stalker, but a well-dressed, articulate one so it was all ok. She was obviously worried for him...when I expressed regret at ruining his life with my so-called stalking (just because Joe, his producer and my husband say it, doesn't mean its true), he gorgeously said "yes poor me, having to deal with adoration from intelligent, attractive women, its terrible". I instantly forgave him as any good stalker, I mean grateful fan would. 

In any case I think I almost made it out alive from that encounter, and by alive I mean with some shred of dignity left but only just and Joe's too kind to correct me on that one... well I'm hoping he is?!

Then there was the brilliant Claudia Karvan. That started well as I am a complete sucker for most of her series', lately Puberty Blues had rocked my world so I was keen to chat about her fantastic character in the show. I was such a fan I couldn't remember her character's name, nor that of her husband in the show who's character I also adored. She responded well to this as of course she quite liked the character too and told me how teenage girls have been expressing disdain over her characters' fall from conservative grace. But as she patiently filled in yet another blank that of her previous series name, Love my way, and that of its creator I think some level of awareness came over me and I moved on and away from the poor woman. Here's a tip, if you are planning on approaching a celeb do a quick wikipedia scan in the lead up, or just don't be so busy you cant remember what day it is let alone details about TV series!

Think she is looking to be saved by someone!

Now sometimes my celebrity intercepts are not complete trainwrecks, like the really fun conversation I had with Wippa at a charity weekend away, he actually seemed relieved to be talking to someone that evening. Woohoo. Maybe I'll ask him if I can mind his new pet piglet one day just to push our interactions into the norm of my other celebrity relationships...hmmm there's more where these came from stay tuned for more examples of how to make friends and influence really influential peeps or more accurately how not to!

No celebrities were harmed during or prior to the production of this blog post...well not physically any way, there is a chance they have been mentally scarred but they haven't contacted me to confirm that...yet...

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A lifetime of beauty in a song

I can't say that this song is going to make your day because it makes me sad yet it inspires me at the same time. But It somehow captures a lifetime in minutes and I am at the same time grieving the end as much as celebrating the wonder of what is now and possible. 

Because life in all it's forms always contains at least elements of beauty. The unique outlook each individual has, what they see is what no one else ever will. We are all watching our own movie and whatever scene you are up to, one thing is for sure it is yours and yours alone, to cherish and keep, locked in your beautiful mind. 

Townsville has obviously been harbouring some deep, mesmerising souls in 'Middle East' 

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Five years of Fun... gone in a heartbeat!

It seems like only yesterday I was lying in bed begging my husband to unwind a painfully cramped foot nearly every night...At the same time my frowned upon but life-long love of tummy sleeping also came suddenly to a non-negotiable end, replaced with the unbearable side sleeping position, that five years on I now love. 

But all the woes of being heavily pregnant melted away upon first seeing my perfectly-formed firstborn through a 3D ultrasound and recognising my father's and my distinctive nose recreated again (poor thing!). That feeling of wonder and ignorant joy will always be with me, and is easily recalled despite the five years of exhaustion that followed this new human's arrival into the world. 

He was the sort of baby strangers were drawn to with his ocean blue eyes staring intently back at them, drawing in information from the start. Now he is a little man, as thoughtful, sensitive and intelligent as he was as a baby, but with a hardcore Lego habit and energy that could light a city. 

Happy fifth birthday M - the first huge love of my life xxxx

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LOST...RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman

RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman 1967 - 2014

As we watch another star at the height of success fall, none of us really know what happens within a mind capable of creating such art. We just sit, confused about what lead to the world's and indeed his gorgeous young family's great loss. All we can do now is remember, and this scene below although not his most acclaimed, has long been my favourite. 

We will deeply miss this force of nature that was Philip Seymour Hoffman. 

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Leukaemia meet a supermum, gorgeous friend and unassuming genius... now get lost!

Your hair's a little shorter now

but your smile is unmistakeable

Your resilience is being challenged

by life's great enemy and its barbaric cure

Bravery awe-inspiring

vulnerability only showing how strong you truly are

Bandana as cool as your even temper

If only those who saw it knew that being you, even now, is lucky!

I'm sure I've bumbled through my visits 

the fear and helplessness sneaking into my eyes

as I desperately hide myself behind an inane story about work

But I know you see me

I know your insightfulness

nothing escapes your astute eye

even poisonous chemicals won't take that from you 

You are a rare one, sharp as a tack, 

Loved by so many

Feared by some I'm sure

but I will be there to help you strike fear into this cowardly disease

and I know there will be many of us trying to beat it away from you

I wish I wish I wish I could take more of the battle on

but please when you think you can't stand, on those inevitable down days

remember all of our love will be there to hold you up 

so you can see the light at the end of this 5 month tunnel. 

And in case you don't know - you are my hero...
and I'm so honoured to be your friend.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dedicated to an amazing woman bravely fighting Leukaemia... please sponsor me in the World's Greatest shave... I'm colouring but will shave it all off if I get over $2k!!! VISIT http://my.leukaemiafoundation.org.au/wideeyedgirl

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All I want for Christmas is ... is cheese!

Once a Christmas fire engine rolled past our holiday house running carols over its very loud PA system complete with Santa on board throwing lollies I knew it was time to "join 'em". 

Left Bottom: Even Angus was sus about this pretend Santa!

In the end there is nothing to beat when you are knocked out by beautiful christmas lights, reindeer and good will to all. Yes every year until I hear my children say the words "Mum you know Santa isn't real right?" I will struggle with the myriad of lies created to keep, let's face it, quite a complex fairy tale alive, this time last year I was struggling with these questions. BUT hearing Crash yelling in the most excited shrill every time he sees decorations or lights "Christmas!". Hearing Bang already rationalising the amount of Santas he sees everywhere with they are not the real one, they are pretend. Listening to countless renditions of Jingle Bells and Santa Claus is coming to town...and their faces on Christmas morning. Nothing beats it and I am a converted Christmas sucker lapping up every random, cheesy tradition.

So just to prove it - check this out! 

Merry Christmas and a happy, peaceful and safe holiday
and hopeful new year! xxx 

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The Bachelor restored my faith in humanity...no really!

I have made no secret that from the second I saw Ali twinkle her eyes in the light reflecting off Tim's shiny hair that somehow, despite my known hatred of all things reality TV, I got hopelessly addicted to The Bachelor Australia. Initially it was more of an anthropological study for me, as I stared curiously at the motionless brows, false eyelashes with breasts to match and unnaturally thin noses, that I don't normally encounter IRL (I'm not in event planning on the Gold Coast obviously... ok so this one fashion blogger I know who doesn't do event planning on the Gold Coast seems to have a very still face, but everyone else has nerves that still work and sad limpy breasts). 

As Rosie Waterland discovered Ali is Bambi!

But I digress, anthropological really is my way of saying I couldn't look away from the car crash, I was dying to see what intellectually stimulating conversations people could make through very large lips and fluorescent white teeth while teetering on 10 inch stillettos. Obviously I am jealous as have never managed any of these things, except the stimulating conversation bit...ask my work colleagues, that happens every day. 

Don't be fooled by the fact this is a still image, trust me nothing moved...ever.

Oh man I digress again, my point in all this is that watching The Bachelor and then reading Rosie Waterland's recap of it every week made me laugh harder than I had in a long while ( I have irish twins...now it all becomes clear). There were some nights I had to put my hand up as the fakeness mixed superbly with obvious intellectual handicap was too much to bear, but tonight even as I read my very cynical twitterfeed (girls where is your heart?!) I was relieved, so relieved that it actually restored some of my faith in the human race....why because the only really intelligent and genuine girl on the show got picked!!! This never happens, the fake moron or the bitchy manipulatress always wins. The natural, confident and successful girl with a funny chin misses out.....right? Especially when the bachelor's brain has been fried by a weird mix of beach-staring induced endorphins and human growth hormones. That walking bicep was so going down the Rochelle or Dani path in my version of "what's wrong with the world?". 

Dani breaks into a sweat trying to move her forehead

But no, I underestimated Timmy, maybe steroid abuse has been good for him, maybe travelling by helicopter and/or boat for 13 weeks somehow delivers some sort of intelligence via osmosis, or maybe his Mum clued him in. Poor old Rochelle's high-pitched facade was not getting past an usually very active brow that gave away Tim's Mum's "I'm a psychologist babe, and you're hiding something!" distrustful frown. I knew it was in the bag for Anna, by the polar opposite facial expressions of Timmy's Mum - replay it back, check it out, she loves her and knows she's for real - Oh f*#k it! I'm just gonna say it "I love her too!" #tragic

You can't tell Rochelle's not really comfy being real from this photo...much...not that Tim's hair can talk!

I'm going to try to restore my cynicism, but my tears when Timmy choked up telling Anna she had his whole heart, were real, and yep she and Osher's attempts at being stiff and serious, have made me believe in fairytales again. Thank goodness my knight in shining armour has already arrived or god knows what I'd now end up with. Off to buy some growth hormones for the hubby after I google whether botox actually is dangerous. And you can be sure you will not see a twinge on this face until Ali turns up as the Bachelorette! 

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Wrong...in all the right ways

I know I am late to this party but by accident (1 minute in a car park before work) I actually listened to the words of Pink's song "Raise your glass" and I fell in love with it and her. 

And then for some unknown reason a colleague at work sent me to this blog post about embracing your weird self (I think I might be weirder than I first thought). Then that classic scene in The Family Stone popped into my head, you know the one where Meredith (Sarah Jessica-Parker) is told by, if-only-this-guy-existed-in-real-life, Ben (Luke Wilson) that she has a freak flag that she just doesn't fly. And I realised there is something quite beautiful (in the loosest sense of the word) about being your real imperfect, nitty gritty, human self. 

We seemingly are all trying to be something that we think is the cool, "right" thing to be, appearing all detached "man", "holler". Well sod that - I get my knickers in a twist all the time and it's because I do care and I do want things to be different and I'm not going to just hang back to appear cooler than I am.

So newsflash - I have a geeky freak flag too (Wow at last Sarah Jessica Parker and I have something in common). Socially I think that over-sharing is hilarious and that political incorrectness is fun. I hate cyclists and often think they ride like they actually want to be run over by a car (I used to ride and I was respectful that cars can take off faster than bikes from a set of lights...helloooo!) I sometimes use the word 'spaz', mostly to describe myself but I know this offends some people seemingly my hubby the most (he's such a spaz!) 

I also forget to ask everyone who's asked me how their weekend was because quite frankly I can't remember my own let alone have the brain power to absorb what happened to some one else. I'm not intentionally or selfishly not interested, it's just my diskspace is full, sorry! I have an obsession with perfect typography, copywriting and layout that drives my team and our agencies crazy. I have an unsettling memory for the perfect word order of a conversation and don't accept answers that contradict the "vibe" of a situation. I like excel and picmonkey in equal measure. 

In short I am like this swearing, curiosity junkie who won't stop until I know the "real" story and have created the "scientifically" perfect layout (I would have said article but that would be insulting given the shoddy word selection of this here post that you are struggling to follow). 

It is weird, annoying and quite tiring. Mainly because I have been left of centre and "wrong" for as long as I can remember and there is no better time to say "you know what - that's what makes me me". And this freak is starting to fly her obtuse flag - look out "perfect" people you're about to cringe!

As Pink so articulately puts it "Raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways..."

Cheers to what makes you perfectly imperfect! 

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Baby vs Career? Really?

This is a thought that occurs to me pretty much every day. Stay at home Mum, working Mum, stay at home Mum, working Mum. Which is best for my two gorgeous mini-people? 

Me on maternity leave...not sure why my hubby just spat out his coffee...

It is a massive conundrum that I have not ever been able to solve in my mind even after a couple of guilt-ridden posts on Mamamia when I first returned to work, both with about 500 "helpful" comments from other women. So when Gumtree did this infographic (below), about it I thought it time to revisit this modern day non-decision. 

I don't think I will ever be entirely comfortable with my full-time work choice, but I can say my two boys seem happy, well-adjusted and I dare say they are in no doubt of how much I adore them.  

I have come to believe that wholly defining your life by your children is quite unhealthy for all involved, especially the kids. So I am glad to have something else. Of course it doesn't need to be work that fills that gap, I think the trick is ensuring it is not solely your children, that's too much of a burden for them to carry.  

For me it is work and I do love my job, the challenge and the personal development that is required to work successfully with others even makes me a better Mum. Some call it selfish but knowing what looking after yourself mentally and physically, individually means for you is a responsibility that must be taken seriously to actually be a good parent. So whatever that is for you, and it is different for everyone, you owe it to your children to make sure you do look after yourself. 

So stay at home or go to work, the choice is only one each individual Mum can make and whatever that choice is, as long as your children are loved well and they know it, I think you are making the right decision. 

Gumtree infographic baby versus career is an infographic that was produced by Gumtree

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Mark Brandon "Chopper" Read - Witty, intelligent and previously very dangerous

Mark "Chopper" Reed 

1954 - 2013

Take away the violence, that thank goodness in later life he did, and you had a larger than life Aussie character who knew he'd lost so much through crime saying only recently "get out of it, get out of it now while you still got a dream". 

I don't know how much of Chopper was accurately depicted in the movie based on him, but I never fail to laugh at this one line and the way Eric Bana repeatedly says "neville effing bartos" in later scenes. Maybe it's my warped aussie sense of humour, honed through years of quick wit (if by wit you mean insults directed mainly at my try-hard-posh grandmother) from my own fairly gritty great uncle Neville. 

Whatever it is, the "no cash" scene is a classic... 

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