I remember the day my world shattered. Six years old, living in Pakuranga, Auckland and my brother informed me that the Easter Bunny, Santa AND the Tooth Fairy were all big fat lies. What, you mean the Tooth Fairy doesn’t use children’s teeth to make grand pianos? Devastating. The stories would last far longer with … More I Hope My Nose Won’t Grow Too Much.
What happens when you take a family who have been living amongst Redwood Trees for three years and plonk them in Las Vegas? You blow their minds. That’s what. After saying our sad goodbyes, we finally left the woods and drove for two days to Vegas. Arriving at The Strip at night was bedazzling. Unbelievable. … More Mummy, What Are Those Jewels Between Her Legs?
Before summer, we asked the ‘Dactyl what she wanted to be when she grew up. She said, after marrying her brother—which alarmed us slightly—that she wanted to “stay home and do nothing like Mummy.” Crikey. Nothing? That worried me more than wanting to marry Bob. “Best you get a job,” said the Dimple. “Inspire your … More The Space Pilot, The Sewer, The Jock And Her Lover.
I always thought that in life and death situations I would do amazing feats; lift cars off small children, run through burning buildings, pole-vault to save strangers. Like Mrs Incredible. This sense has heightened since we moved to the woods because our neighbours are a little wild: scorpions, bears, bastard deer ticks, snakes, poisonous plants … More It’s With Great Reluctance I Admit I Am Not Mrs Incredible.
When I overheard a friend talk about how beautiful our daughter was on New Year’s Eve, she looked at me like it was an affliction. “She’s more than three-year-old cute,” she said, the whites of her eyes large with pity. “She’s classically beautiful.” Oh dear. Not the classically beautiful daughter. We all know where that’s … More Trying Not To Screw Up The Daughter
Gazing at friends on the red carpet at The Hobbit premiere in New Zealand, I felt strangely envious. Facebook is a bitch sometimes, showing me where I’m not. I LIKED those pictures with a thumbs up, but I didn’t actually like it at all. It made me hanker for my old hood in Wellington. Instead, … More Slotting – Kind Of Like Slutting But Not Really.
If it all turns to crap I’ll go help the poor hungry people in Africa. That’s what I used to think. My trusty back up plan. Africa laughed at such a notion. If it has all turned to crap then please don’t bring your shit here. We don’t need any more. Many folk think they … More Does My Butt Look Big In This Continent?
Recently, somebody told the Dimple he was awesome for driving our kids to school. Like, wow man, you actually got in the car and like, buckled up, then put it into drive and you know, drove there. If that’s awesome then what’s making out at the top of the Empire State Building at 10pm when … More No. Everything Is Not Awesome.
“Why didn’t you and Daddy call me Luke Skywalker?” has been Bob’s question lately. A tricky one to answer, because son, we wouldn’t want the crap beaten out of you. Star Wars is Bob’s first addiction. Initially we were baffled how he even knew about Darth Vader and R2D2, not being frequent visitors to our … More The Day My Heart Strutted Off Without Me.
Gardening, I always thought, was for old ladies suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome; they miss watching children grow so plant sunflowers instead. With a track record of owning plants that committed suicide I expected to become a fusty gardener around 68. Having prided myself on always having a good title: Vodka Strumpet, Ad Slut, PR … More Nature, that place where large birds fly about, uncooked.*
Mother’s Day began with my first tick bite, which is not in any way like the love bite I was expecting. The woods are full of deer ticks right now, carriers of Lyme disease with startling symptoms like facial paralysis – whilst tempting with no Botox clinics in the forest, other muscles and the brain … More An Utterly Terribly Horribly Awful Brain Fart
On our second night with six baby chicks, we couldn’t hear the TV. “Can you turn down the chickens,” said the Dimple. Peering into their box I found blood down the spine of one of them and the brood kept pecking the same bloody spot like it was pasta carbonara. I believe I squealed. Tedium … More Mean Girls has got nothin’ on our chickens.