Tattoos

Do you have a tattoo? It seems so many people have at least one these days I think I'm starting a trend NOT having one.

Tattoos have never concerned me. You have one? Great. You don't? Whatever. I truly believe it's each to their own if you decide to ink up or not. Despite not having one myself, I've always admired them.

They can be tasteful, artistic, sweet (see image above) and very creative. I know one certain gentleman (knickname sounds like Beach) who has two. One on his left shoulder blade and one on his upper right arm. Both of them are very symbolic to him and tell a story from a time in his life. I admire his conviction and genuine desire to communicate that way, but a tattoo one me? I'm not sure.

From footballers wearing sleeves of them, to celebrities inking their necks, shoulders, feet, back and (insert body part here), you can't swing an iPhone without it hitting someone with a tattoo. Therefore I wonder, do tattoos have the same edge and rebellion associated to them as they once did?

As my 30th birthday approached...*cough*... a few years ago, I considered offering my wrist to a tattoo artist to symbolise the start of a new era. I also asked Teach if I should get a tattoo to mark the birth of our son 12 months later. His response was simple yet effective; "If you really wanted one you would have one by now. Don't get one because you think you should. It has to be for the right reason and suit your life. You can't wash it off."

So true. So I didn't.

Have you got a tattoo?

Image: Pinterest

Career Crossroads: Comfort or Security?

When I was a wee young thing my Dad said to me, ‘If you want to be a good writer you have to read everything.’ At the time I didn’t really want to hear his advice (sorry Dad) and knowing me, I probably walked away thinking, 'Pfft! Ok Dad. Whatevs!' as only a delightful pre-pubescent daughter does to her Dad and turned up the volume on Mariah Carey's Music Box album (it was the 90's!) and stuck my head under my pillows hoping to disappear. 

Today, in a slightly older age bracket, Dad's advice creeps back in to my ear as I sit at my laptop urging the words on the page to, ‘Hurry up and make sense!’

Pieces of my debut novel are lying before me waiting for guidance. One particular scene is flaccid, uninteresting and down right amateur. It's been restructured so many times it finally appears in what could only be described as gobble-dee-gook, making me come to terms with the sad reality that my attempt to 'harness my creativity' (Thank you Oprah) will be a long and painstakingly slow process.

Now I am escaping. I've switched from Word to Wifi to forget all about my pathetic crying leadying lady and her life changes...boring! Instead I'm going to kill time flipping through the delectable pages of ASOS.com daydreaming of all the clothes I'd like to buy.

But it sits there waiting for me. That dreaded blinking curser knows I will return and magically morph in to an evil clown face and laugh at me hysterically, 'You're back for mooooore? Whoa, ah, ahhhhhh!' Lovely!

I never grew up thinking, 'I'm going to be a writer,' but I always loved the sound of the 'click, click, click' of the keys on a typewriter. It seemed very romantic to me, like an old black and white film. Romantic and important. If you were a writer, I thought, you were important and SOMEBODY. Who would want to waste their time reading when they could be a writer?

Looking back I can see now that the desire to write has always been tucked away in a pretty box (a gorgeous Tiffany & Co blue box with a white bow of course) behind my heart. It didn't reach my brain until I was so mind-numbingly bored one day playing Mum I started a blog just for the hell of it. 

Sitting down at my PC to write what had happened that day or what I wanted to happen, was the only creative outlet I felt somewhat good at and sincerely enjoyed doing for myself while on maternity leave. And let's face it, no matter how much I'd love a cute pink scarf, I'm more likely to use the kneedles in E's play drum kit than I am to sew.

As the months went by and I was drawn into the world of blogging more and more, my Dad's advice got louder, 'To be a good writer you have to read everything.' Without hesitation I went straight to the bookshelf to rediscover the many novels I’d stashed there over the past ten years and started to read.

I hadn't read for a long time because it was such a large part of my nine to five. Reading was the last thing I wanted to do after an intense day at the office, besides it took me away from decent drinking time!

Week after week I read another book reminding myself why I loved it in the first place. The adventure. The romance. The frivolity. The connection with my playful-inner-girlie-self. I couldn't get enough. The more I read, and subsequently wrote for This Beautiful Life, the more I found myself saying, ‘This is what I want to do. You can do this.’

So here I am standing at a career crossroads listening to the arguments between the left and right sides of my brain trying to decide if I should follow the path of least resistance or follow the path of financial security. 

Comfort or security? Comfort or security? Comfort or security?

The battle is tougher than a Men's Wimbledon Final. We're sitting on Deuce in the fifth and final set about to start a Tie Break.  Here’s a brief replay of the match so far:

HEART: ‘You really enjoy writing. People comment on it all the time. It could be something you develop further and potentially end up doing full-time. Imagine getting paid to write! I would love to work for myself and be a published writer. Let’s give it a crack.’

HEAD: ‘Don’t be ridiculous you have a family and responsibilities. You have no experience in writing and besides you've got to compete for space against many other better writers who actually know how to write. Go back to your old job, earn a decent salary and cement a secure future.’

HEART: ‘But how will I know if I never try? I might be good at it and actually find happiness in my career.’

HEAD: ‘Ha. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard this year. You've got experience in PR and that's what you should do. Now have another Tim Tam.’

HEART: 'But I wanna...Poo. Bum. Wee.'
 

And ‘round and ‘round we go until the packet of Tim Tams is slowly but surely demolished and my head is about to explode.

While I may have brought myself to this fork in the road (or bloody huge roundabout that doesn’t appear to have any exits) I acknowledge that many others, unfortunately, don’t have the privilege of choosing their path.  I should be grateful to have the choice. And I am...which makes this whole process much harder to swallow.

Do I return to the PR world, to an industry that has provided me an amazing life with many opportunities and memorable experiences – not to mention an excellent income and a wardrobe full of killer heels – for the road never travelled (by me), which I'm not even sure I will be good at or make a living from?

The thought of returning to a manic PR agency, dealing with clients, dealing with media, working 12 hour days and never getting a peaceful nights rest again because of stress - let alone E who still doesn't sleep through - makes my stomach back flip more than a performing dolphin at Seaworld only not as enjoyable to watch. However, it is a career I know. It is one I’m relatively good at and one that can afford my family the lifestyle to which we’d like to become accustom.

Here it comes...

BUT what if I try my hand at writing a few things and have someone far more intelligent than I read it? I know a few people in the industry, maybe they could be a credible sounding board before I dive in? 

BUT what if said person happens to like what they read and, oh my golly gosh, shows other people or worse still it gets published one day? What if it doesn't? Can my ego survive the fall? Can I return to my bedroom, turn up the stereo with Mariah Carey playing and hide under the pillow circa 1991?

Whichever road fate wants me to follow, there’s one thing I know for sure, Dad will be there at the starting line saying, ‘High beam kid!’ as he always has at the beginning of new phases in my life. 

Real Estate Heaven

The time has come for Teach, E and I to pick up sticks and set up a new home in a family-friendly house.

We've resided in our current unit for close to two years, which isn't long at all, but I feel like we've done our time here. Then again, I do have a knack of getting itchy feet every 18 months to change postcodes and this time is no different.

Actually, it is slightly different. Now we have a child to consider. A crawling, almost walking, toddler who wants to be in everything, discover everything and chew everything. E needs space, comfort and security - major factors in our search for a new home.  Let's be honest, he's not the only one.

So yesterday I started the mind-numbing task of hunting for our new abode. The number of tired, old, slightly leaning to the left, decrepit houses available to rent in our price range was terrifying. The more I looked the more I remembered how much I detest searching for real estate (especially rentals). The level of crud you have to wade through before hopefully finding something suitable is ridiculous. And hey, if you don't need a tetnus shot before you move in all the better!

Don't misunderstand me, I'm all for shabby-chic and getting my hands dirty to fix 'er up and make 'er feel like home, but the guff I came across yesterday would be better off making a date with a blow torch, or better yet, a bulldozer.

After more than three cups of tea, a packet of chocolate cookies and two hours of searching rental websites, I logged off feeling sick to the stomach (both physcially and emotionally), deflated and a touch devastated. I realised my search for real estate heaven is going to be mammoth! 

I don't think I have high expectations. Surely somewhere in this town I can find a clean, french colonial, four bedroom, two bathroom, air-conditioned house located on luscious grounds with manicured gardens, a pool, study, library, home cinema, wide verandahs, views to the city (but not a deal breaker), plus space for E to play all for the same price as our current rental? 

What! No?

Ok, Ok! I know I'm dreaming. Dreaming of the home I will most likely never own. Dreaming of a real estate heaven only ever experienced by those with celebrity pay cheques or inside trading links to Wall Street.

Yes, I understand it's for my own health that I need to search for something more realistic. Sheesh, you're such a kill-joy! But before I trudge back to reality can I please spend a little more time in la la land and imagine myself cooking a delicious family meal here...

and teaching E to swim here...

 or relaxing with Teach here...

and hosting friends here...

 or maybe curling up with a good book here?

Well, if it's good enough for Bridget Jones, it's good enough for me.




{Images originally from here}

An Open Letter to 2011

Dearest 2011,

Please let me take this opportunity to express my heart-felt thanks and gratitude for coming into my life. I had a feeling we would meet one day - perhaps we met sooner than anticipated - but in the end I'm so glad we had our time together.

Stop! Spring is telling me something...

Yesterday, as E and I were putting out the washing, something caught my eye. I stopped doing my chores (which was really difficult because I looooove chores...NOT) and noticed the first fabulous sign of spring. 

Career Girl or Working Mum?

Unemployment. It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? Unfortunately not the ring of cash registers or a flawless 2crt platinum princess cut Tiffany ring, but a ring nonetheless...

Two Lives

I am a walking contradiction. I came to the realisation on Saturday afternoon as Teach and I sat in front of the television, chowed down on McDonalds and played with E. I heard myself say, 'Now E this is rubbish food, you don't want any of this.' His little eyes watched us closely as we demolished lunch in desperation, not hunger, but desperation to get rid of the evidence that we proactively bought and consumed fast food. It tasted so good, I was disgusted with myself!

A Baby's Point Of View

Mamamia is a fantastic website featuring stories/columns on everything from relationships, careers, gossip, news, travel, food, parenting and general wellbeing. I love receiving the Daily Update in my Inbox - sometimes more than once - and reading what Mia Freedman and her contributors have to say. 

Today, I found this fantastic story by Richard Glover highlighting several rebuttals to the very popular book Go the _____ to sleep! Richard sheds light on why some tiny tots across Oz can't sleep.

My life is a Status Update

I think I'm sick. Correction. I know I'm sick. It occured to me while I was in Darwin over the weekend and now I can't stop thinking about it. My brain is full of Facebook status updates. HELP!!

It's slowly driving me crazy and I can't seem to log off. I think I need to see a Doctor. Perhaps a pyschologist? Maybe an IT guy? Someone to help me switch back to default mode and make my mind work the way it use to in the beautiful days BFB - Before Facebook.

Oh, the good old days! Yes you remember them. The days of an era long ago, circa 2007, when friends would write you an email or send a text with little thought. It was so harmless, carefree and naieve. It was heaven!

I realised I had a problem when I spent my Saturday night in bed planning my Facebook status update. A loooooooong story short, E was extremely tired so I left Teach to enjoy the night out with our friends and took E back to the hotel.  After putting the rug rat to sleep and coming to terms with the knowledge that I would miss out on a great night, I settled into bed with a cup of tea and my book, but my mind kept wandering, trying to come up with clever ways to explain my night via a status update. 

For what felt like hours, I would write and re-write a line and phrase over and over again searching for something that would work. I was looking for an interesting, funny yet smart sentence that would encapsulate my dreadful evening. It needed to be short and sharp. A comment that oozed humour, garnered sympathy from other Mothers and portrayed a deep sense of loss for the night that never was so readers would feel the urge to comment or like it. I knew one awesome and powerful sentence would make me feel better. Something I desperately needed to ensure my whole night wasn't wasted.

I was completely delusional and lost in a haze of words. I couldn't stop thinking about different ways to say the same thing. I would read it aloud and give each word emphasis to ensure I wasn't being rude, crass, mean or insulting. The hit finally came to an end after I accidently pressed 'Share' and went with the fourth (or was it fifth?) draft I'd prepared. The line (pun intended) was over to fast and I needed another hit. Where will the next one come from? What else is happening that I could write a status update about?

It's sad but true. Teach knows only too well how a Facebook status update has started to infiltrate my day-to-day existance. We'll be watching TV, driving somewhere or discussing what we'll have for dinner when suddenly I announce 'That would make an awesome Facebook status. Write that down!' He doesn't, much to my disgust. It upsets me now just thinking about it.

Can't relate? Think of it this way. My facebook status update is the equivalent to the fashionable 'Oh, this old thing. I just threw it on' line we all say to girlfriends when we catch up for lunch, when in actual fact you've been mixing pieces from your wardrobe for an hour, asking your boyfriend if this dress goes with these shoes and frying your hair under a blow dryer for 20 minutes striving for that just-got-out-of-bed-hair look loved by Sienna Miller and Alexa Chung.


Surely I'm not the only one who has realised that the answers to life lie in a text box titled 'What's on your mind?' and you judge the successfulness appropriateness of life the update by the number of comments or likes it receives.  It's just to important to get wrong! Besides, you simply can't risk having your status update online without a response...how embarassing!

Now I've taken the first step in overcoming this illness, I have strength and confidence in knowing I will be free to think, talk, work and live as a responsible adult again one day. My new life is just around the corner.

I just need to make it fit into 140 characters or less!

The First Lady: My New 'Savnista'

Michelle Obama's style is very well documented, photographed and analysed. Ever since she stepped on to the stage in that stunning one-shoulder white dress at her husband's inauguration in 2008, the First Lady has been America's new darling of fashion. Let's face it, there hasn't been another President's wife that has warranted so much attention since the ever-glamorous Jackie Kennedy - quiet rightly!

Now I don't normally take much notice of Michelle's outfits. Yes I buy my fair share of trashy mags and sit on People for hours skimming through all the celeb pics like any other normal (?) woman does, but Michelle's fashion hasn't been that high on my must-see-odomator. I'm not sure why. Maybe I see her as a bit to Mumsy for me - I'm holding onto my Independant Woman ideologies with gritted teeth and a monkey grip - or perhaps because she's associated to Politics? While I admire her style and taste I usually relate more to Reese Witherspoon (another Celeb/Girl crush I'll have to discuss another day).

That is until I saw this pic and discovered that her top is actually a $30 Gap dress. Nice work Mrs Obama! You've shown ladies across the world, Mothers or not, that style does not have to come with a large designer price tag.

I shouldn't be surprised really. Michelle once wore a white Gap tshirt to lunch with former First Lady Nancy Reagan and caused quite the stir. I knew I loved Gap tshirts for a reason!! I have several in a range of colours at home, but now I can honestly say I have the same 'outfit' as the First Lady - a stretch I know but I'm so going there!

Anywho... I'm proud to say Mrs Obama has found a new place in my heart as a savnista (savvy fashionista...get it?) and has inspired me to wear my Gap clothes over the weekend with pride and pretend I'm as super-stylish.

Happy Friday.
x

To invite or not to invite?

A good friend and I were chatting about her upcoming nupitals over a glass of wine on Saturday.

Sally is getting married to her delightful fiance in Fiji early next year. She is extremely excited and has most of the elements organised including her dress, the venue and a photographer. Despite her great organisation, Sally confided in me that she's nervous to send out the invitations because she isn't sure whether or not to invite a former friend and her husband.