Friday, March 29, 2013

Birthday Week.

GUYS I am so terribly guilty and apologetic that I have been so quiet on the blog front! I mean I know that you are all just constantly hanging out on the edge of your seats for regular updates from me.  Who wouldn't? I mean this stuff is RIVETING!


First things first. If you would be so kind as to look to your right you will see a button  "Vote for me now". If you feel so moved, I would be eternally grateful if you could hop over there and vote for me in the People's Choice Awards. I mean, there's only like 1000 entries or something so I AM A SHOE IN OBVIOUSLY! 

Please and thank you.

Anyway as you all know it was my birthday this week, and in case you missed it I drew the winners of the Mollie Day prizes!  Check it out if you want.

I got pressies.

I done got me some nice perfume from the kids and an attractive nightie and set of jarmies from the husband which were both very nice.

But I have to say the best loot came from my dear old parentals who are traditionally generous beyond measure with this stuff and didn't fail to impress.

Dad gave me money to buy - wait for it - MY VERY OWN LAPTOP COMPUTER! I KNOW! OMG!

So I done bought one.

It's an Asus something something. I like it. Downside is that it is running Windows 8.  WTF? Windows 8 you are freaking me out beyond WORDS and making me feel ANCIENT AND HOPELESS! WHY SO WEIRD WINDOWS 8? Didn't the success of Apple teach you ANYTHING MICROSOFT? EVER HEARD OF USER FRIENDLINESS INTUITIVE SHIT BLAH BLAH?

I've been raging at it.

Here's hoping I come to grips with it STAT or someone will suffer.  I might just write a VERY STRONGLY WORDED letter to a certain Mr Bill Gates outlining my displeasure.

Be afraid Bill.

Anyway, the other present of awesomeness was from my mum - money for a big ole fancy pants, trendy, the whole works hair cut.

Guys. Don't get freaked out (I mean I know I am a 33 year old, generously proportioned mother of two, respectable public servant and erstwhile librarian), but CHECK THIS OUT!


I got an UNDERCUT BABY! Just call me Rhianna. You can share my umbrella, ella, ella, any time you need to, any one of you.

My bloggie friend Kim from Falling Face First has written about her blossoming early-mid life crisis and its resulting pink hair action. I too am starting to rage against the dying of the light and saying HELL NO I WON'T GO gently into that good night.

Look it's a pretty small one but we all have to start somewhere. Maybe next time I will get some lopsided geometric hairstyle action too but first things first.

Another friend K has a group on FB called "F**K Yeah Girls with Short Hair - Oz" for fierce chicks like us who rock a short haircut. You should totes look her up and join.

So we came up to the Sunshine Coast to stay at the Slapdash Family Compound for Easter and I write to you from said Compound as we speak.  This meant we had some built in babysitting and this subsequently facilitated a DATE NIGHT for M and I to celebrate my birthday.  So we went to one of our favorite restaurants ever - The Spirit House, in Yandina. It's a Thai restaurant. A super dooper one.

We've been a few times for lunch but hadn't been there during the night before - just so gorgeous! I cannot rave enough!

Here's some random bad photography so you can feel like you were THERE TOO!

It's set around a little pond like thing and you walk along a path to get there, all lit with lanterns and "spirit houses".

As we walked along I remarked perceptively, "It really reminds me of THAILAND!". Who'd have thought, eh?

We had a cocktail.

And some champagne.

We ate spicy delights.  The end.
I hope that little rundown was as good for you as it was for me.

 Anyway it's been a nice week. We've even been to the beach. We met my friend K there with her two little children today.  As we were playing on the grass near the sand a TV reporter and camerman came up to us. They walked right past me and zoomed in on olive skinned, beach touseled hair K and asked her probing questions like "What do you think people like to DO AT THE BEACH ON GOOD FRIDAY?" and so forth. I'm not sure what they were hoping she'd say.  Perhaps they were angling for something like "Oh, we like to REENACT THE PASSION OF CHRIST FOR THE BEACHGOERS" or "We enjoy the beach at Easter because the sand in our jocks reminds us of CHRIST'S SUFFERING ON THE CROSS!". What they got was a lot of close ups of her baby A eating a hot cross bun covered in sand and grass.

After they'd got her comments and their 5 minute baby close up, they wandered off to find another attractive family to film.

Completely ignoring me and my offspring.


OK so maybe my outfit du jour wasn't screaming BEACH BEACH BEACH, what with my voluminous sun smart coverall, unshaven, pasty legs and Mum's old beach hat, but the kid has star potential at LEAST!.

How very dare they.  I almost shouted out after them "I say there! You with the camera! HAVEN'T YOU FORGOTTEN SOMEONE!!!???".

Anyway Happy Easter readers! Hope you never have to suffer the indignity of being ignored by a regional television station's camera crew. How ever will we live it down?

Until next time!

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Winners of the Mollie Day giveaway!

And the winners are!

Roylene Mills
Annie Stevens
Ez from Life...Style'n!

Send me an email - - with your contact details ploise!

I had to draw it again between the three of you cos you all preferred the Charlotte.


Roylene - Gwen
Ez - Charlotte
Annie - Jennie

This weird photo is me drawing the winners! That is my arm stuck in a paper bag of MYSTERY!

Monday, March 25, 2013

A relationship ends. Awkwardly. And in a drawn out fashion.

Since I was pregnant with B we have had a cleaner come once a fortnight to do the basics, you know, floors, bathrooms, blah blah.  It was $50 well spent. Oh how I love the feeling of a clean house but oh how I loathe cleaning it.

Tidying and prettifying I quite like. Fluffing cushions and putting flowers in a vase I am practically an expert in, but cleaning does not float my boat. I have lofty aspirations and it takes more than grovelling around on the toilet floor bleaching off stubborn stains to get me excited.

Don't get me wrong, I am no shirker. With a baby and a toddler there is always cleaning to be done and not a day goes by when I haven't vacuumed or swept the floor, cleaned the kitchen fifty times, put on and hung out twenty loads of washing, swished out the feral toilet, changed wet sheets, you name it. I also have a useful husband who, you know, crazily enough does plenty of house slaving too.

But once a fortnight I indulge in the luxury of paying someone else to do all that crap for us.
I would give up lots of things before I would give up the cleaner.

The problem was the cleaners gave up on us! How bloody rude. It was a mother and daughter team, and my first inkling that they were no longer enamoured of chivvying for our household was when the daughter got a part time job in a shop selling baby clothes.

I chose to ignore this traitorous extra work on the side and continued to text her the night before our cleaning day to ensure all was still on. Her replies became increasingly reluctant, starting with the occasional "can we swap days my manager needs me to work" and ending up with "no I can't come but maybe mum can?"

I became confused and a little needy. What was she trying to tell me? Was she trying to break up with me?

Were they still my cleaners or not? I felt hurt, then worried, then downright panicked.

Would I have to clean my own floors that week!?!? Surely not!!! That would be a crime against humanity indeed.

Anyway it seemed that the mother was still turning up and doing the house and pocketing the cash for the moment, albeit in a less fastidious fashion than in the early days of the relationship.

It all started really going belly up when the mother then went and got a job in a fruit shop. I tried to pretend I didn't care, that it was fine, I was sure she could still fit me in. Surely??? I mean, I gave them a box of Roses Chocolates at Christmas time!!! WHAT MORE DID THEY WANT FROM ME???

She texted me about a fortnight ago asking "Do you still need me to clean tomorrow?".

"Yes PLEASE!" I texted back enthusiastically, hoping to energise her with my upbeat manner and friendliness.
"M is home today with the baby who has a bit of a cold but he won't mind!!" I added.

There was quite a pause before her reply.

"Can we wait until the baby is better?"

My heart sank.
"Oh, ok. Maybe next week?" I replied hopefully.

"Yes no problem".

It was starting to look dangerously like I would have to weaken and wash the floors.  You will be pleased to know I resisted this urge courageously.

Next week rolled round and she did turn up and give the place a cursory sprucing. Cursory being the operative word.

The next fortnight I did my usual texting and her reply didn't arrive.
I left the key out and the money on the table in the optimistic hope that she would arrive and work her mediocre magic on the filth.

Later that day she finally sent me a message in reply to mine.

"I'm sorry I can't clean today I'm going to New Zealand for two weeks tomorrow and I'm really busy packing".

My heart sank again.
I guess I can take a hint.

"Ok. Well thank you I guess I'll find someone else", I replied.

No response.
Point taken.

It wasn't her, it was me.

I felt like weeping. I put a call for suggestions on FB and got a few names.
When I contacted one of them and she said she was available I felt overwhelming relief!
She came round to meet me at the beginning of last week. She was cheery and enthusiastic and full of advice. I could have kissed her.

When I told her that I usually left the key out for the cleaners under the doormat on our back patio, she looked horrified.
"Oh no love. No no don't put it there! My husband used to work in security so I know all about it. Oh that's very unsafe, especially in this suburb!"
She looked thoughtfully round the backyard and then said;
"Leave it there love. In the pot plant. Much safer. Yes that is MUCH safer".

Yeah because no one ever suspects the pot plant do they?!? Whatever, I was happy to do her bidding as long as she took me on.

Anyway today was cleaning day and I woke up extra early, full of excitement, like a kid on Christmas morning. I just knew that my firm position on refusing to clean the bathrooms or mop the floors would be justified when I came home tonight to a sparkling house.

I rang M while I was on the train on the way home, and he said "The house is perfect! She has done a great job! The kids and I are all here safe and sound."

"WONDERFUL!" I said with joy, "I cannot wait to see it!"
When I got back, I raced in the door to embrace the children briefly, then shoved them out of the way so I could get to the loo. It's a long trip OK?

As I raced in, I noticed a small pair of damp undies in a pile on the ground, and the distinct crunch of sandpit sand under my feet. I looked closer and noted the tell tale spots of wee that indicate a rushed toddler toilet visit.


Under the dining table were several pieces of scrambled egg, toast and plenty of squashed peas.  Toys lay scattered in both living areas.

I guess it probably looked good for about 5 minutes.  I hope one day I get to witness the house in its pristine state but it doesn't look like that will be any time soon.

At least there's no mould in the bathroom sinks now. 

Do you have a cleaner? Or do you enjoy wallowing in your own crapulence? Perhaps you like to sniff household bleach to forget your troubles?

Tell me everything!

Sunday, March 24, 2013

The Slapdash Report has changed!

Hi everyone!

I know you are all just HANGING OUT for my latest Slapdash Report.

Well things have changed peeps and the lovely people at The Shake have allowed me to add my weekly current affairs ravings to their learned publication.

So now it is called The Shake Report!

I am so excited to be part of this new magazine and thrilled to be included.


Thursday, March 21, 2013




Kind of.

A-wooga! A-wooga! A-wooga!

OK we've got that DISCLAIMER out of the way.  I defy anyone to remain UN-WARNED after that red alert.

Guys I've been feeling a little glum. Usually I enjoy the HELL out of the journey, but I'm just feeling a bit tired and grey. I mean, usually I enjoy the journey so much I'm like some kind of drunk backpacker who gets lucky with a Swedish tourist on the Eurostar in the Chunnel.  That is some journey to enjoy.  But I've got sick kids, mundanity, work, not being able to concentrate, blah blah. Also I feel a bit anxious about my blog and my writing and wondering WHY AM I DOING IT? Am I crap? What's my GOAL? WHAT TO DO?

So, not enjoying the journey too much.

But it's my birthday next week. The 27th in case anyone is interested.  I will be 21 AGAIN! So young. SO much to live for. So I thought I would do something SPECIAL so we can all ENJOY THE JOURNEY LIKE MOFOS again!

And that special something is a real, live GENUINE, NO JOKE GIVEAWAY!


Going with my recent Mum Fash Blogger incarnation, I have been lucky enough to be given 3 Mollie Day clutches to give away to my readers.

You can find the Mollie Day store at

Mollie Day is an online store dedicated about fusing femininity, style and elegance at affordable prices.  Each item is exquisitely decorated with beauty in mind, adding an understated and radiant accent to any outfit - day or evening.

Olivia from Mollie Day gifted me with one for my birthday too!

Here are the three I have to give away!

The Jennie - in silver 
The Gwen

The Charlotte - in Green
I know, pretty cool. They are sitting in my bedroom as we speak.

To enter, please leave me a comment on this post telling me which one you like best!
You don't have to be a FB liker or follower but I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE IT haha. 

Feel free to tell others.

I will draw three names randomly on my birthday, the 27th March.

By way of closing, and in keeping with my fashion theme, I present a few more recent OOTD pics from this week. Once again I grow weary of the usual poses and have introduced some of my own.
Here I am modelling my new clutch! It's the Regina in yellow. Check ME out!
Work shoes Monday. 

Work outfit Monday. This pose is called "Interpretive Dance with Toothbrush"

Weekend outfit. "Imma Little Teapot Comin ATCHA!" pose
Weekend shoes. 

 Good luck readers!


Tuesday, March 19, 2013

I'm on The Shake!

Hello readers!
Today you can find me pimping out my fashion tips on The Shake!

Troublingly it coincides with a sudden panic attack that I am not funny, cannot write, am HOPELESS AND AWFUL AND OH GOD PEOPLE ARE READING IT ARGHHHHHH!

But you should go and read it anyway and comment because The Shake is a brillo up and coming online magazine and is tops and awesome.

Check it here

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Crazy cat lady.

I had to take the cat to the vet for her vaccinations on Saturday.

The vet was running a bit late, and when he called for us to go into the treatment room, he apologised for the delay.

Gesturing to the front desk he said seriously, "I'm so sorry. You see, our server died yesterday".

"Oh my god!" I said, "I'm so sorry how AWFUL!"

"Oh," he said, looking strangely at me, "Thank you."

"I mean, that's just terrible! God, was it sudden?! You seem so CALM?!"

He stared at me, confused.

"I mean the computer server died," he said, adding "You know, no Internet."

"Oh thank GOD! Ahahaha! Oh I thought you meant your receptionist had died! I thought you seemed a bit blasé! Haha!" I laughed shrilly, "What a RELIEF!!"

He looked slightly bemused but carried on like a true professional.

I did what I always do in awkward situations and chatted away to fill the silence. I think I managed to have him convinced I was a normal person until right at the end when they gave me my bill and I absent mindedly asked if I could have a receipt so that I could claim it at Medicare.

Bona fide crazy cat lady credentials right there people.

Look into my eyes, Human Infant. Give me all your catnip. I know it's hidden round here somewhere. Don't make me SCHMOOZE you. We both want what's best here...

Friday, March 15, 2013

The Slapdash Report - Fashion Edition!

Today's report is brought to you by Kylie Mole and Miranda Kerr's neck brace.

Because it's fashion week here at Slapdash Mama I'm broadening the net even wider to encompass some fashion world news as well as my usual in-depth current affairs coverage!

  • According to the latest polls, Tony Abbott is preferred PM again.  Oh no, hang on, it's Julia Gillard again. Oops! Now it's Tony again - no, hang on, it's Julia! Tony! Julia! Tony! OMG. Lucky we only have 6 more months to go.  SO ACCURATE! Gah! Stop the polls I wanna get OFF!

  • A group of high spirited and enthusiastic members of the public disrupted proceedings during Federal Parliament this week.  It was hard to make out but I've been lead to believe they were shouting words of encouragement to the Prime Minister. I'm no lip reader but I'm pretty sure they were saying something like "Julia Gillard we support you in your ROLE!" or "Julia Gillard you are funnier than Kylie MOLE!" It's just so fantastic to see people taking an active interest in our noble parliamentary democracy!

Got this from Tumblr. Don't know where it's from originally. Please don't sue me.

  • Miranda Kerr had a car accident and is wearing a neck brace.  Everyone remain calm.  She's going to be OK.  Also, she still looks hot.  I know. Phew. Told you I would include fashion news! 

  • The House of Representatives has passed the National Disability Insurance Scheme Legislation. Still has to go to the Senate.  It will mean we have a social insurance system for assisting people with a disability and their carers that all taxpayers contribute to. 

  • There's trouble afoot in the Australian cricket team (look, I try to care about sporting issues).  Some blonde guy called Michael Clarke who is apparently the captain asked some other players to fill out their client service feedback forms and they said "Um, NUH!" and he became enraged and they got in t-ROUBLE and some other blonde guy called Shane Warne I mean Watson (why are they ALL CALLED SHANE?) chucked a mental and went home to his lady. Pretty sure that's accurate.

  • Sigh, urgh, more SPORT drama.  The Cronulla Sharks have been having calf blood injected into their faces in a sort of new youth giving facial treatment.  Or was that Kim Kardashian? God knows.

  • In a break from tradition, the Catholic Church has elected a gay black woman with 5 kids as the next Pope!  (I've written this part of the report in advance and just went with the MOST LIKELY scenario to be on the safe side!!)
There you go chaps, a little from column A, a little from column B. It's been a big week policy wise but I've only got so much space and time. I'm a busy and important woman, people! Time is money! And so forth.

Oh, I've gotten a bit sick of the OOTD stuff. But I haven't given up totally.

Here's a picture of me in my yoga outfit from last night.

Earth mother. Excuse the pot belly. I am not actually 5 months pregnant, I just ate a big bowl of spaghetti and drank a glass of wine. What, isn't that what everyone does before their evening yoga class?

Check it. Tree pose. I think. Maybe I should do a yoga video?

Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Like, exercise or go to the beach. Actually, ignore that. Do EVERYTHING I wouldn't do.


Wednesday, March 13, 2013

GUEST POST! Return of the Mac.

OK let's get this stupid OOTD palaver over first.

Wore these shoes with these pants. You'll be pleased to know they were a matching pair this time. Refer previous post. Also, these are JEGGINGS guys.

A better angle of said jeggings. I got bored of all the usual poses and decided to come up with my own. I call this the "Steve Irwin" selfie pose. Also, Tegan from Musings of the Misguided said she wanted to see my "camel toe". Whatever that is. Didn't she? Oh sorry my mistake. Avert your eyes then Tegan.

In this crazy mixed up place we call the World Wide Web, sometimes you meet someone.  Someone who GETS you.  Who KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE COMING FROM.  A cyber soulmate.  Friends at first Tweet. Or whatever.

And sometimes, just sometimes, that person has exactly the same name as you.

Look, I'm not going to go into too many details here people but suffice to say there is ANOTHER Sarah Mac out there.  She lives in the Northern Hemisphere, I live in the Southern Hemisphere. She hates her Android phone, I hate my Android phone.  She is hilarious, I am moderately amusing.

And guess what? I have been lucky enough to win a giveaway on her blog People Don't Eat Enough Fudge! I know, the stars are aligned for me indeed.

The prize for this giveaway was nothing less than the opportunity to host her as a Guest Blogger on my very own blog!


Take it away Sarah Mac!

Clipboards And Cat Shit 

A couple of days ago I received a letter that surprised and worried me a little.  It was from Master Macs School and it said that they were concerned about his attendance record and would like to see me.
I rang the school immediately to see if there had been a mistake.  No, they assured me, no mistake.  It seems that with his recent accident and resulting appointments at the hospital Master Mac had hit a trigger point.
The visit was arranged for Friday morning at 10am.
After waving the children off to school I looked around. 
It’s been a while since anyone other than friends and family had been to the house and having someone who is basically there to question your capabilities as a parent sure makes you look at things with fresh eyes.
A quick wiz round with the hoover, wash the breakfast dishes, clean out the litter tray, shower and dress.
That WAS the plan!
Out came Henry, a flick of the switch and …..  WHOOOMPH!!
A great cloud of dust and dog hair, tissue and fluff erupted like a mini volcano covering me and half the room as effectively as Vesuvius buried Pompeii.
Complete panic, the damn woman was due in 45 minutes, my house was filthy, I had 5 cats running around, a dog shedding yet more hair and a full litter tray.
 I was also braless in a baggy tee-shirt and cropped legging.  I didn’t have a clue what to tackle first.
A quick slug of Merlot from the open bottle on the kitchen counter (yes, it was only 9:00am but needs must!) and I assessed the damage.
Ok, litter tray first.  As ever, a queue of full bladdered kitties waited for the moment the clean litter hit the tray before parking their furry bottoms in the gravel to fill it up again.
Out to the wheelie bin at the front of the house only to find that it was, as always FULL!! 
The bin wasn’t  due to be emptied until Monday and only a foolish person leave a bag of used cat litter around for all the other cats in the neighbourhood to rip apart and spread the content (if you are lucky they might even leave an offering of their own!)  So, back in, wellies on and into the bin I hopped. Jumping up and down trying to compact a weeks worth of cat shit and other household rubbish
HELLO, YOOHOO, Mrs Mac???  I swung around to see a woman holding a clipboard tottering towards me in the most extraordinary pair of shoes.  They were those wedge ones with a hole cut out for some bizarre reason, it looked like she was walking in ice skates.  But the main things was,
Ok, I thought, if you can wear ice-skates, I can stand in wheelie bins carrying shit and coved in filth.
I decided to brazen it out.  Calmly I climbed out of the bin on to the wall and hopped down onto the pavement.
‘That would be me’ I said with a smile holding out my hand to shake hers.  She recoiled slightly and waved her clipboard in an attempt to suggest that it wasn’t that she was reluctant to clasp my hand but rather that her hands were full.
Coffee?  Tea?  Slug of wine?  I queried with a slight laugh as though I was joking while both of us hungrily eyed the half full bottle.
Perhaps we could just sit down and have a chat she suggested whilst her gaze swept my house and myself with complete horror.
I smiled again, again she recoiled, what was the matter with the woman? I got that she didn’t want to touch me and ok, I guess I could empathise with that, but I was only trying to be friendly for gods sake.
‘You have ……. Errm ……..’ she said gesturing to my face.  What? WHAT???
I dashed into the bathroom to look in the mirror. Oh great!  I’d obviously inhaled a quantity of dust and dirt and my nostrils were ringed with black, I could have cried except that would only have left streaks down my filthy cheeks.  I cleaned up as best I could and feeling very subdued went and sat down.
Things couldn’t and should have really got any worse and in truth, I’m not sure they did but by that time my judgement was shot along with the chance of winning any parenting awards!
Tilly, mum to three kittens has suffered a little from what I call ‘lactating mummy tummy’, it’s not funny and it’s not nice.  It IS noisy and it does stink however so when I saw her purposefully making her way to the tray I knew all was lost.  After much digging about she proceeded to excavate her bowels with a sound like a toddler let loose with a trumpet and sure enough, like a mist creeping over the sea the stench pervaded the room.
The poor lady decided enough was enough and brought our meeting to an end with assurances from me that I would never again let Master Mac be shot in the eye and thus miss valuable schooling.
If only one of us had realised that Florence, the smallest of the kittens who had taken great interest in this ladies footwear had somehow manages to wedge herself through the hole in her damn shoe.
She stood to leave gathering her clipboard and her wits and took a step towards the door. The weight of Florence caused the shoe to shoot off her foot across the room.  Florence yowled, the lady let out a strangled scream and I dissolved into hysterical laughter.
There probably is a moral to this story but to be honest, I haven’t got a clue what it would be and frankly, after I’d finished the bottle of wine I didn’t really care.
(nb Florence was completely unharmed J)

So there you have it! Thank you Sarah Mac. You are a funny lady indeed and you have a great name, and like me you enjoy blogging about cat poo.

Go and send her your love, my pretties!  I command you!

Toodle pip!

Slapdash Mama aka "Sarah Mac the Plumper"

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

My Skin Care Regime.

Ciao fellow fashionistas.

Tonight's edition of the Slapdash Fashion Spectacular is an overview of my very own skin care regime.

This face doesn't just take care of itself you know. I have to put the hard yards in to maintain my apparently effortlessly flawless complexion.

As is my habit, I will present it to you in dot point form, accompanied by helpful pictorial aids.

  • Cleansing - It is important to cleanse your skin. I cleanse my skin. Cleanse is a weird word, isn't it? Cleanse. Means clean. But, like, with extra letters.  Woah, does my voice sound weird to you? totally does sound weird! Look at my hands they are so HUGE!  Anyway I use stuff to clean my face.
This is the stuff I use. It's from fancy boutique establishment Woolies. When I'm not wearing makeup I just use water. I know! Novel.
    I use a washer to cleanse my face too. This one has added stains from wiping the baby's face.  I like to think of them as extra nutrients for my skin. Some people pay the big bucks for that gear you know.

  • Moisturising - I mostly don't bother. Sometimes I shove Oil of Olay on. I use whatever half finished tubes and bottles are lying round for my hands and feet. But mostly I can't be arsed.

That's it people! Enlightening isn't it?

Anyway, yesterday's OOTD received an overwhelming response so I am continuing on with today's high fashion costume.

OPI Shorts Story. Chipped to buggery. Forgive me FF for I have sinned. It's been 14 days since my last NP application.

I'm mixing up the bathroom selfies for you. Top and skirt Veronika Maine. Scarf my mum's old one from back in the day. Can you believe I used to wear it as a sort of top arrangement? I wore it today because it has purple on it and my colleague R makes us all wear a particular colour on Tuesdays. Today it was purple. Fascinating, no?

Here I am importantly Taking Care of Business and Getting Shit Done. I was interested to note the development of significant back fat in this photo. Perhaps I need to source some control underwear for my upper body? Any tips for getting rid of it? The back fat? I mean, apart from like, losing weight and doing exercise and toning up and shit. 

My shoes. Also from an op shop.

 There you have it.

Do you have back fat? Do you wash your face? Own any full body control underwear?

I'm dying to know.

Monday, March 11, 2013

It's Fashion Week at Slapdash Mama!

Hi readers.

I'm a bit off my game at the moment due to my poor health and sick kids and blah blah blah moan moan sigh cough cough coughhhhhh hack snort gnnrrgghhhhhh.....

Anyway it is unfortunate timing my friends. Unfortunate timing indeed, because it is at this VERY MOMENT that the judges for the Kidspot Voices 2013 are hovering enthusiastically over nominated blogs, determining WHO WILL BE THE WINNER!? or even who will be in the Top 100??!? No pressure at all dudes. Nope. None.

Everyone just LOOK NORMAL OK!?

Anyway, and this has NOTHING AT ALL TO DO WITH BEING NOMINATED FOR VOICES 2013, but it just so happens that as well as being a talented Political Analyst, Travel Reporter, Satirist, Poet, Restaurant Critic and General Dispenser of Parenting Advice, I also fancy myself as a bit of a Fashion Blogger too.

Stop laughing please you guys, you are embarrassing me in front of the JUDGES!!!!

I totally AM a fashion blogger.

So this week has been designated FASHION WEEK here at Slapdash Mama HQ!  It coincides rather depressingly with my recent resolution to buy NO NEW CLOTHES for the rest of 2013.

I'm not joking.  This is really happening.

I need something to distract me from this decision, so I'm even going to be presenting you with an OOTD pictorial spread.  Don't know what OOTD means?  Neither did some of my new Twitter mates, when we were Twitting about stuff yesterday so I was only too happy to enlighten them with an explanation.

OOTD means "Outfit of the Day". Obvious now, no?  And it is the hashtag that fashionista types give their selfie snippy snaps on Instagram. And fashion blogs are full of them.

The punters go CRAZY FOR THIS SHIZZ.

So I am getting on board too. For the punters, you see.  I give them what they want.

Here's today's OOTD.  You guys are lucky in a way you cannot imagine that the first OOTD was done on one of my work days because it means I am wearing actual CLOTHES!

Here I am wearing a Review dress from 2010, a pink David Lawrence cardigan from a million years ago, and Red Phoenix Emporium necklace and earrings. I saw Red Phoenix jewellery on Faux Fuchsia's blog and because I too am a joiner, I immediately ran off and purchased some. 

Here's my legs and shoes and attractive work office type carpet.  Shoes are from an op shop. You've seen them before. Because I basically wear them every day.

Obligatory bathroom selfie. Large overflowing bin with paper towels really adds a sort of charm I think. Gritty. Like, I don't know, an episode of The Wire.

There you have it guys. Before I go I want to leave you with a few fashion words of wisdom that have helped me over the years.

-  Jeggings are for all!!!!
-  Everyone looks good in a tunic, leggings and ballet flats.
-  When in doubt, wear a dress.
-  Colour is the new black! Or is that grey is the new black? Hang on maybe it's navy blue.  Anyway, let's just say black is the new black and leave it at that!

Stay tuned for tomorrow's post where I regale you with my Slapdash Beauty Tips and post yet another OOTD.

Til then.

Your ever faithful

Slapdash Mama.

EDITED TO ADD: Just removed the post from the IBOT page because I did it wrong.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Getting my Eeyore on.

I had so many things I wanted to blog about today.
International Women's Day for shizz, how much Twitter scares the living daylights out of me, Helen Razer, Destroy the Joint, rude keywords that land people on my blog, how the cracks in my heels make me feel like the mother in Muriel's wedding and other equally highbrow stuff but I am too freaking sick. As far as the search terms go though, let's just say that basically if I hadn't done that post on breast feeding I don't reckon anyone would be reading this blog at all. Thank you perverts of the world! Every "boobs out" "big boobs out" "mama boobs" "lady preaching with her tiddies out" search you do that lands you on my blog is another notch on my belt!

So I am as sick as a proverbial dog. I'm writing this on my phone from my sick bed so it'll probably look wacked but that's ok because it will be an accurate representation of my mindset at the moment anyway.

I've got the most foul congested chest. And of course I'd chosen today to redeem that facial voucher M got me for Valentines Day at the salon.

It was less than ideal. I lay on the table wheezing and bubbling like Darth Vader. I always feel a bit claustrophobic with gunk being rubbed all over my face anyway but today doubly so. I seriously felt like I was drowning in my own mucus. The beautician was polite but I could tell she was grossed out. At one point she said I sounded like an emphysema patient but without the croaky voice and nicotine stained fingernails.
What a bloody waste.

Skin looks good though. For a change. Note to self; drink more water. Might help with the whole "mostly getting about looking like a dried apricot with adult acne " issue.

Also I'm sad because P had her first ever sleepover at my mum's place without either of us there and I missed her and did a bit of mental catastrophising about what could go wrong and was so glad when she returned. But now she seems to have decided that she doesn't like me much, and has ignored me and smirked when I tried to ask for a cuddle. There was a LOT of smirking. What is she, 14??? She kept it up all afternoon. Consequently, what with my consumptive constitution and this attitude from little miss, I might have had a little weep on my bed.

I think my mother sees it as karma.

I have no idea how I will take the attitude of the teenage years.

Hold me....

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

She is a tourist, he is a holidaymaker, I am a TRAVELLER! Part 3 in a Series

Hello devoted readers.

Before I regale you with the latest travel tale from my critically acclaimed series, I just wanted to do a shout out to blogger Housewifeinheels, who has done a Mummy Swap with yours truly as part of an amusing series she writes, wherein she lives a day in the life of a famous mummy blogger. Yes, famous ones. Like me. HAHAHAHA.  Still you should read it, it's FUNNY!

OK, this instalment is entitled...

Celtic Tiger My Arse.

For my other travel tales, click here.

As I have alluded to several times, when I was 20 I went on a trip back to Ireland with my Dad aka Grandpa G, who was born and bred in Belfast, Northern Ireland.  All Dad's family are still back in the Old Country, so we went to visit them and then undertook a whirlwind tour of the Emerald Isle itself, just him and me.

We did the traveling in a hired Fiat Punto. It is safe to say the driving part of the trip was rather, ah, frought.  It was punctuated by my dad's intermittent outraged complaints about the state of Irish country roads, the inadequate turning circle on the Punto, the inadequate space in the driver's seat for a man of his stature, and a general vibe of getting lost at least once on every leg of the journey.


He was right about the roads though, they weren't great.  At one point we were driving out of what was supposed to be the main road north out of Dublin, and we came upon a traffic jam. As we crawled along in the tiny vehicle, we soon realised that the holdup was because the road was flooded. I mean, not just a little bit flooded, but like, totally inundated by a raging river that flowed alongside it.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Dad, wild eyed, as the car in front of him crawled into the torrent. "Fer focks sake! It's a focken river!"

I started to get a bit panicky as the tiny Punto edged closer to the water.  Looking around all I could see in the way of emergency services was one police officer, knee deep in the river, and wearing a reflective jacket, vaguely waving the traffic forward into the water.

I looked to Dad for reassurance that we weren't going to be swept to our deaths.

"Celtic tiger my ARSE!" he said in disgust. "Will you look at that! All their European Development Funding and they can only put one focking guardai on when the road is focking flooded. Focking disgrace."

Suffice to say we weren't killed and the Punto survived but it was a close shave.

So the driving was a little bit stressful.

One of the trips we did was to a part of Ireland called Dingle.  It's a popular summer holiday spot but of course we were heading there in the depths of winter. Sensible.  We had a pretty nice trip most of the way there until it started getting dark at like 2pm or something and we still hadn't arrived at the cottage we had booked. Dad was losing his mind and I was probably weeping.  Eventually we pulled over and found a phone so he could call the place . Turns out it wasn't in Dingle but somewhere else. Trouble was we were in Dingle. You feel me?

[Source] This is Dingle. Cute, no? I don't have any photos from this part of the trip, they must be at Dad's. No matter.

Anyway after driving round in ever decreasing circles of rage, Dad eventually found a pub in Dingle proper that we could stay in.

When we got up to our room I announced I was going down to the bar to have a drink BY MYSELF.

Dad declared that to be out of the question, over his dead body, had I seen the types down there etc.  Because I was a compliant child (yes I know I was and am still actually an adult but this shit dies hard), I didn't tell him to get effed and go anyway, but threw myself sobbing in rage onto my bed while he listened in a bemused fashion and read the papers.

Cue the next scene.  Morning dawned, we set off again and finally got to the cottage cabin type place we'd booked. The place was called Rossbeigh Strand.  It was pretty adorable and I was bloody grateful for some SPACE.  I flopped immediately on the couch and turned the TV on. Dad tried to encourage me to come with him on a bracing walk along the blustery beach but I politely declined (ie. rolled eyes, sighed, and scowled at him til he left).  Off he went jauntily whistling a tune, the only man alive who thinks suitable attire for a walk on a windy beach in the Northern Hemisphere in the depths of winter is a mustard coloured parka and stubbies.

I breathed a sigh of relief and promptly fell asleep.  When I woke, it was dark.  I sat up and checked the time. 3 hours had elapsed and Dad was still gone! I felt a rising panic.  Where was he? What should I do? Who was going to make my dinner?

Just as I was really getting worried, the door to the cottage flew open with a bang, the wind howling in, and Dad appeared in the doorway, windswept and wild eyed, with twigs stuck in his parka.

"DAD! Where have you BEEN!?" I cried.

He staggered in and collapsed on the couch to recover.  Eventually he revealed to me that he'd become lost and disoriented on his deceptively harmless beach stroll.  He'd apparently set off up the beach for a while, before deciding to walk through the dunes, thinking he would take a look at the beach on the other side.  He trudged along for what seemed like an eternity, walking until he lost all sense of direction, with nothing but sand as far as the eye could see.  At one point, lumbering over a bluff, he startled some unsuspecting sheep, who bleated furiously at him and scattered away in a panic. Undeterred, he clambered ever onwards, not knowing his arse from his elbow.

[Source] I'm guessing Dad hadn't seen any aerial shots like this of Rossbeigh Strand before he set out for his stroll. That's a mofo of a sand dune people. No wonder he went all Burke and Wills on me.

Eventually, with great relief, he came to the other side of the dune, and was met with what he described as a huge decaying seal or other blubbery sea creature.

As darkness descended and with the stench of the sea creature assaulting his nostrils, he had not choice but to set back out over the dune, once again losing all sense of direction. Forced to navigate by the setting sun, he wondered if he would ever be reunited with his surly and ungrateful daughter again.  As luck would have it he did make it safely to the other side, and 3 hours later, returned to the aforementioned cottage where I had been snoozing, unaware of the drama unfolding just outside my door.

The rest of our stay at the beach cottage was comparatively uneventful, until we got all the way back to my Aunt's place near Belfast and Dad realised he still had the key to the cottage in his bag.

That was ok though, because when he rang the lady who owned it, she told him that he had left two pairs of trousers underneath the mattress of his bed, so they were able to do a sort of hostage style exchange via mail.

Before you ask about the trousers under the mattress, I too was a little confused as to why Dad was storing them there.  Turns out he does that so he doesn't have to iron them.  He's innovative, I'll give him that.  Who knew?

When I finally got all the way home to Australia, I told Mum about the trouser incident, and she remarked that on a holiday to Bali in their courting days, Dad had left his trousers under the mattress in the villa there too.

So it's a pattern. Who knows how many pairs of pants he's left? He is like the Scarlet Pimpernel, only he leaves pants instead of a calling card. The Scarlet Pant-pernel.

Do you put your trousers under your mattress? Ever been lost in a sand dune? Or a desert?

No, me either.

Bon voyage my fellow travellers.


Linking up for TALK TO US THURSDAY...

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Monday, March 4, 2013

Faint Praise, and On Being Highbrow.

If you haven't heard already it's been raining cats and dogs in these parts. Still.  Hurrumph. I am thinking of building an ark.  Just for me, mind. Get your hands off it and build your own lifeboat you lazy bums.

P went for a walk in the rain. Squee.

M undertook a craft activity with P.

I know, talk about over achieving [eye roll]. Check out this castle and dragon and sword wielding Princess!

M is always showing me up in this way. So rude.  The first time he looked after P when I had to go to work, I came home and he had made a madeira cake, pruned the lemon tree and tidied the house.  I know! I don't even know what a madeira cake is! Selfish show offy bastard.  As you can imagine I was ENRAGED by this, and rightly so.  I gave him a bloody good telling off.

What's that? Unreasonable? Me? How dare you!

Which brings me to my next point.

You may have noticed over the side there that I have been nominated for the Best Australian Blogs 2013 competition! I know! How awesome!

Some really fantastically nice person nominated me for that.  She is attractive, smells nice, is EXCELLENT at baking cakes, has great dress sense, is hilarious, kind, smart, witty, a good listener, empathetic, creative, well informed, passionate, and just downright delightful.  I think you guys might even know her.  She likes to take the piss out of herself but we all know she is actually a FANTASTICALLY LOVEABLE, WONDERFUL DEVOTED MOTHER AND AN ALL ROUND GREAT PERSON!

Can you guess!?

That's right, it's me! I nominated myself.  What of it?!

I told my mum proudly that I'd put myself up for nomination, and there was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone, until she offered this gem;

"Oh darling that's, ah, good. You know the great thing about your blog is how FREQUENTLY you update! Nearly every day! And you know what, you are really improving, I do think so. Definitely improving!"

Underwhelming, I'd have to say.

I've been damned with faint praise all round the place recently about a variety of things and frankly I don't like it.

I nominated a couple of other blogs too including my ole friend Mumabulous, who was also incredulous that we light hearted mummy bloggers would be considered "highbrow" enough for this salubrious award.

Well frankly I think we are as highbrow as all get out.  If that's what the judges are after then they have totes come to the right place.

I'll give you highbrow! OMG!

Just to prove how FREAKING highbrow mummy bloggers can be, I have written adapted a Shakespearean sonnet, inspired by the episode of Kevin McCloud's man made home I watched last night.


Let me not to the marriage of Grand Designs
Admit impediments, a hot tub is a hot tub
Which, altered from a plane engine*
Lies nestled in a pile of mud.
O yes, it is a very fancy robe
From alpaca wool he had it made;
The hands of retro crones have woven**
It for him to wear in his Man Cave.
Kev's not time's fool, nor technology's either,
From his medieval drawbridge deck
He doth watcheth the sheep and weather***
And nary a laptop nor Iphone to check.
   I sigh and yearn to live off the grid
  Just as Kevin, old Smuggy McSmuggington, did.

pronounced to rhyme with design, OBVIOUSLY!
** to rhyme with robe. Duh.
*** rhymes with either. Doesn't it?

There you have it. You want highbrow? You got it baby.

Are you high brow? Or is it highbrow? I never know.  Tell me which is right in the comments!

Friday, March 1, 2013

The Slapdash Report, The (Swim) Brief Edition.

As predicted I am already running out of ways to make my Slapdash "A Current Affair" Report amusing.  Did you watch Shaun Micallef the other night? Another bastard stealing all my ideas.  Trust me, I had an absolutely hilarious Report prepared but he used all my jokes. I am not lying*. Some people are just so damned uncreative. If you want to see all my brilliant ideas, go here. I have sent him a terse email from my lawyer**.

In order to squeeze some mileage out of my tired old concept this week, I've decided to write the Slapdash Report from the perspective of Tony Abbott's budgie smugglers.

My other reports are available here.

[Source] Courier Mail. Leader of the Opposition Tony Abbott putting all us ordinary sloths to shame yet again. Doesn't he realise his fellow Australians are all obese junk food addicts who hate athletic over achievers? Who is his media adviser I'd like to know!?

Dear diary,

Woke up early this morning when Tony stuffed me into his exercise bag along with his musty old towel and running shoes. Sometimes I don't feel like this is a relationship of equals.  He treats me roughly and I just have to support him without question, physically and emotionally.  I want to leave, but I just can't. I adore the man. Nobody wears me better.  

 He was in a foul mood, probably because that red headed harlot Julia Gillard had announced she was going to spend a week in Western Sydney sucking up to bogans, when he had totally had the idea first.  He was angry with me for discouraging him when he first canvassed the concept, but it's not my fault I prefer the idea of a dip at Balmoral Beach to endless laps in the local murky Western Suburbs municipal pool.   

His temper was only made worse by those fools he calls colleagues when they squabbled once again about the refugee visa issue. I wish they understood how much they upset Tony when they fight, and then it's me who suffers when he's so distracted that he forgets to rinse me out in the laundry sink and I go mouldy.

Anyway, dear diary, I'd better go, Tony's shouting at me again. Oh God, what is it now? I'm exhausted from our session this morning, I can't handle another workout of angry swim/jogging.  Don't tell me someone's mentioned his "women problem" again. I wish those shrill feminists would just shut UP and leave the poor man alone.  Anyone who loves watching Downton Abbey with his daughters is obviously totally down with all that equal rights stuff.

Ever yours,

B. "Speedo" Smuggler

There you go guys, out of the mouth of babes togs.

Until next time.

Your faithful servant,

Slapdash Mama.

*I am actually lying. I do that sometimes. I know, despicable.
**Lying again. Practically pathological, really!

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