Grow a VJJ

My life is filled with lots of rollercoaster ride-worthy moments, the type of rollercoaster where there are plenty of vertical loops and you are blindfolded! One minute I’m at the top, with lots of little moments building to this exhilarating feeling you’re having. Everything feels perfect and you are high on life. You sense that something big is coming, good or not-so good you don’t know. But you are deeply aware to expect ‘something’ to happen anytime soon and then WHAM! You’re hurtling down hill so fast that you feel like your arse is going to come heaving out of your mouth screaming “Holy shit Batman hold on!” Then as fast as that you’re halfway to the bottom but still close enough to see the top, and you know you’ve got to pick yourself up and start that climb again. You’re suffering a minor graze or two to your ego but nevertheless you’re still wearing a big fat smile on your face … After all its damn good to feel something AND you survived!

This is a ride I see so many Superwomen on. Our lives so jam packed that we are teetering close to the edge of crazy! My girlfriend and I were discussing today how we should take ourselves off to an institution – just for a holiday! They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result … Wonder if I can stop doing the washing now I’m clearly insane!

One thing I must say I am proud of though and something all of my “real” Superwomen friends also should be patting themselves on the back for is that we are strong. Of mind and of body. We get up each day and repetitively continue on. We may yell, bitch and whinge occasionally but we certainly don’t ever give up. We never throw in the towel and quit. We are always there for each other ready to listen to the other Superwomen in our lives vent about the unhelpful children or the husband lazing on the couch because we know next week it could be us saying the very same thing. We never judge but instead jump on that bandwagon until we are laughing about the stupidity of the situation. Then and only then are we armed again to tackle the rest of the day.

Which takes me to my favourite quote of all time. Originally I heard it was a Betty White quote – which made it even more entertaining – but there have been disputes that someone else actually said it first, in fact possibly a man! Regardless of whose mouth it came from or whether they had balls or not its so true and stupidly funny that even the main man in my life had a good laugh about it ….


Something to think about huh?!

One love

DRK xxx

Polony Brain

We’ve discussed the fact that I am an over-sharer in a previous post and it is something I have been working on since – sometimes quite successfully too…. But in the process I’ve also realised that I am an over-thinker or maybe just plain paranoid! Being an over-thinker leads to so much under-doing, which leads to nowhere really fast. I asked Dr Google to research over-thinking and one thing I found – which was enlightening – was this ….

“They are experts at misinterpreting what people are saying and if there is a way to have their feelings hurt, they’ll find it. Even go looking for it. Not only do they have a history of almost doing things but more often than not they are obsessive, compulsive with perfectionistic tendencies. They worry too much. About nearly everything. They are people-pleasers who want change (different) but the change process scares them. They don’t need other people to sabotage their dreams or goals, they can do that all by themselves. They are highly skilled in the art of self-sabotage and if anyone will get in their way, it’s them. They are… the Over-Thinker.”


And one of the tips for helping an over-thinker is to have a sounding board, to stop rationalising and just be honest… So if I am really honest with you all I would tell you that there’s not much time in my day that I am not thinking about things and then rethinking them, over and over again. I can (and I will) dissect each thought piece by piece until it resembles the factory floor where polony is born. My thoughts then become a montage of wildly different things, altering the original thought into billions of different scenarios and stories – some of which would make fabulous novels! I can turn something that was really simple into something completely perplexing within just a few seconds and this is why I could actually never be a novelist – because my brain has the story all done and dusted before my hand could even put pen to paper.

Let me share with you an extreme example … I can be driving along, cruising on the speed limit when a car decides to perch itself up my butt and instead of thinking ‘What a dickhead’ I start thinking ‘Oh he looks like he’s in a hurry I wonder if I should speed up… Yeah I’ll speed up maybe his kid has been rushed to hospital… Oh but if I speed up I’ll be over the speed limit and I might get a ticket… Oh and if I get a ticket I am going to have to tell my husband…And if I tell my husband that means I’ll have more speeding tickets then him…Oh but this guys kid really needs him I better get a move on or pull over…’ Yep, I’m dead-set serious here! And in the meantime I’ve also turned all the segments of those thoughts into stories too … I’d love to go into them with you but that would be a serious case of over-sharing! This crazy over-thinking can go on and on and it only stops when I am interrupted by one of my brat pack – one of the blessings of hardly ever driving alone I guess!

Being an over-thinker also makes me a worry wart. It makes me a WCSF (worst case scenario freak). It makes me so damn annoying to myself that I am always consciously trying to find a mute button! I analyse everything with a fine tooth nit comb, you can’t get much finer! Always on my mind is; what if this happens? Or this? Or that? Then I analyse those too pieces. Another little example I am willing to share with you is if I hear a noise at night time when my husband is at work. It couldn’t possibly be just the old house creaking… No way!! Before I know it I have turned the teeniest tiniest of noises into the biggest, scariest scenarios that anyone could possibly ever imagine (even Lee Childs). I’m laying in bed frozen solid in panic, my phone ready in my hand with triple 0 already entered and just waiting for ‘call’ to be pressed. My heart is pounding so loud that I think even the Devil can hear me, I’m hardly breathing and my eyes are wide open like saucepans waiting for the shadow of footsteps to reach my doorway … And then the toilet flushes … Yep just one of the kids going to the toilet! Who knew that shit could be so scary!

I so often try to do the ‘follow your gut’ thing but then I go ahead and cut, copy and paste it so much that by the time I’m done with it my gut feeling now resembles a ransom note – you know the type that are painstakingly created with letters cut out from all different articles from your favourite magazine. So what was my initial gut feeling? Huh?I can never remember.

It makes me want to be the kind of person who doesn’t think at all. The type of person who only has white noise in their heads and that vague look in their eyes … In fact those kind of people were probably once just like me and have been signed over to the state and put on some serious brain-numbing meds!!! Oh well, one day when they invent something that can read minds and record them then I think I will have quite a few best sellers in there, the stories I tell myself are always engaging and the left and right sides of my brain are clearly never bored…

Over-thinking is funny … I’m not crazy! Really I’m not!

One love

DRK xxx

Push it, push it real good …. And then run like hell!!!

I have buttons. In fact I have a lot of buttons and if you press the right ones then good things will happen – not just for me but for you too! You’ll get to experience the happy, fun-loving and smiley Cristy. You’ll get to feel the full force of my love, my friendship and I will do anything to get a smile out of you. But then there are these other buttons … Other buttons I wouldn’t even mess with…

push it!

And then there are those kind of people who just can’t do anything other than push the bad ones! I have one particular person in my life that knows all my buttons and knows even better the bad ones, how to push them, how often to push them, which ones to push first in order to get the best response and then usually finishes me off by pushing the ‘I’m-smirking-at-you-right-now-just-so-you-feel-really-stupid’ button…. The worst thing about my button pusher is that he lives under my roof which gives my precious buttons a insane daily workout…. And no it’s not my husband surprisingly, but in fact my 12 year old son!

I swear he walked right out of my womb with a mud map of which buttons I had and where they were located. If there is a line and I tell him not to cross it he will hover his foot above that line and then in slow-motion place his big toe down til it’s resting right on the edge of the line but not over it and then ask “What line?” *cue his smirking button pushing* He hasn’t officially crossed the line now has he?! If he wasn’t so darn big I would send him back up into my womb until he decided to toe the line … Properly!

He is what I would call a serial-pusher because he has the entire family, from the littlest to the biggest, on high alert. Within seconds of his arrival he has at least one person ready for a straight jacket or a bunch of Tequila slammers, yes including my 8 month old who is really beginning to like Tequila in his bottle… I am certain though that beneath my 12 year olds desire to drive everyone in his family nuts that there is a loving heart lurking somewhere  there and his button pushing activities are a force way beyond his control… Like maybe in a past life he was an Elevator Operator, one who never took a day off in his entire 50 year career….

Surely as a Superwoman I would have a super strategy to deal with this past life behaviour! In fact I should be able to karate chop the shit out of every move he makes to touch mine or anyone else’s buttons…  If I truly had superhero powers I’d be made of steel therefore rendering his antics powerless because my buttons would be untouchable…. Unless he had kryptonite – damn you kryptonite! So I am busting the myth that our children are our little darlings, that they never do anything wrong and that they are golden! I love the kid but he drives me cra-a-a-zzy!

Who pushes your buttons? Tell me your strategies to deal with them……….. Please! *begging*whimpering*

One Love,

DRK xxx

Getting Naked

Every time I get naked and catch sight of myself in the mirror I am shocked! It’s like it is the first I have ever seen my post baby body and I’m instantly like “Omg who the fuck is that?” and then…  “Oh shit it’s me..” It’s not a complete repulsion but it kinda makes my eyes bleed a little.

First of all there is this fluoro, beacon light thing going on with most parts of my skin. These are the places where sunlight has never dare set foot. In fact I am so vivid white that I’m pretty certain if you turned off the light I would glow in the dark …. True story! Then there are those ‘tiger stripes’ that women talk about. It’s not that I am ashamed of them but I’m certainly not as proud of them as I could be and I really, really admire the superwomen who are proud of theirs! My stretch marks have faded over time but I still see them as irrepairable imperfections – wait a sec … who the hell has taken my perfection bat!?!

And then there is this belly button that I inherited from my Dad! It’s deep enough to plant a tree and then grow a bloody orchard! It emphasizes my little pot belly in a way that should be as illegal as a person who is blindfolded, drunk and operating a vehicle. And it is my belly that I am most self-conscious with … My dreaded jelly belly – the junks not in the trunk but under the hood… And it scares me sometimes because I wait for the “Omg when are you due?” question.  My only comeback is “Oh and your arse is having twins, congratulations!” – which is not so effective when they are 80… And a man.

So anyway, I was talking to my friend last night about plastic surgery. An idea I have been flirting with for sometime. I have always thought a bit of liposuction would be all that I would need to make me happy with my body but then after my jelly belly was gone what would be next? Wouldn’t I then want my boobies put back on my chest to keep my knees from banging into them? And how about shaving my nose down to a more petite size so my allergies are halved in springtime?

I wonder though who would I be doing it for? It definitely wouldn’t be for my husband because when he says he loves me just the way I am I actually believe him…. So then it must be for other men? No, it’s not coz I honestly only care about what my husband thinks of me. Well then it only leaves other Superwomen… And yes its probably very true that I would more than likely get surgery done to please my allies… Or to be like my allies… Or to even look better than my allies? It’s that competitiveness once again that I feel when other women look me up and down and then casually glance at themselves in the reflection of the shop window. If they smile once they’ve compared the both of us I know I have just made them feel better about the coffee – with full cream milk – they’ve just had.

ImageBut then I love talking about this to the real Superwoman in my life, my Mum, because she tells me how back in the 70’s none of these things were an issue. I love knowing that if I was born 30 years earlier then I was that I would have been living in that world, but I’d be without my Supermum! She always tells me that ‘back then’ women got together once or twice a week to play a game of tennis or badmington which would then be followed up at someone’s house with coffee (that instant stuff) and cakes, slices and biscuits. All homemade, all full of sugar, gluten, dairy, wheat…. Sometimes it feels like these are all taboo food nowadays! But the good ‘ole days! How awesome is that?! Even more awesome when she shares with me vital info that I never knew was possible – that being that they never ‘looked’ at each other the way we do. They never noticed if someone gained or lost weight let alone ever commented on it. Whereas now everything is weight related. From the skinny latte with no sugar you order at the counter to the gym junkies who count how many calories they have just burnt to the ‘Wow have you lost weight? You look great!” comments.

It’s on the cover of all the magazines…. One week it’s “Celebs Who Are Too Skinny” and then the next is “How to lose 5kg FAST”. I look at those ‘too skinny’ celebs and think yep, definitely too skinny but then the next week I’ve cut out that 3 page spread on how to lose 5kg fast so I can pretend to follow it just to wear a dress to a party without feeling like the elephant among the mice. And it’s a terrible cycle for me but I am far from having a eating disorder though I do believe there is another ‘new’ disorder evolving.

ImageOne thing I do know and it’s something I remind myself of daily is that when I am dead and buried I know for a fact that my headstone will not read “Died finally reaching her goal weight” yay for me! Or “Died just 2kg away from her idea of a perfect weight – what a total failure!!!” It’s ridiculous!

Happiness is a state of mind not a number on the scales! It’s time that we live our lives without repenting over the extra 200 calories we ate for dinner! We are the role models for our daughters who we will teach to either love themselves and life wholeheartedly or to continue the downward cycle of regarding external ‘beauty’, and the judgement of what society says that means, for the rest of their lifetimes!

ImageSo it starts with me… Today I am backing away from the scales, I’m giving my donut jelly belly a loving little squeeze and I’m getting on with living! Whose in?!

One Love

DRK xxx

My Number 4

For those who know me well know this story well too. It’s one of those stories that I am excited to tell because it makes me believe in so many things. Like fate and destiny. Like love and soulmates. It also makes me believe in all my Nanas old stories because this is going to ‘one of those stories’ played to my Grandies, on repeat, when I’m 80… And just as I do they will pretend each and every time that it’s the first time they’ve ever heard it! Probably a lot like my friends!

It’s a story that really changed my life, set me on a path I didn’t think I would ever get to travel along and it’s a story that’s as real as every little piece of me. It began with a door knocking experience. One of the most scary-out-of-my-comfort-zone things I have ever participated it, but then I’m not a thrill-seeker so it’s probably quite hum-drum to most. But along with all my phobias (see Choking on insecurities and Phobias post) I had all these crazy perceptions and fears of the reactions I would receive as a dooknocker. Like having doors slammed in my face, being yelled at and abused and having a little Toto lapdog set upon me! Yes, he may only be small enough to bite my ankles but he would have seriously damaged my pride!

Surprisingly though, people were kind. They always allowed me to speak, they politely refused but took my card and they never, not once, slammed the door in my face. There were a few houses that were empty (or playing dead) but the first door I knocked on, Number 4, just never opened up. There was music playing inisde. There was a car in the driveway. And it was blatantly obvious that someone was home, even more so because I could ‘feel’ a presence of someone behind the front door. I remember thinking that they were probably gawking at me through their peephole. But regardless of whether someone was there or not the door never opened. I self-consciously left a card and a little letter to say who I was and why I had dropped by. I was a Real Estate agent – looking to list some properties by-the-way!

It was only about 10 minutes later when my phone rang. I was clip-clopping down the street in my shiny black high heels and work uniform, paperwork under my arm, a black briefcase in my hand and fumbling to flip open the phone to answer it …. Yes, it was in the days of the flip mobile phone – the grandkids will need explaining on this one in 50 years!!! It was the guy from Number 4. Realising I wasn’t there selling vacuum cleaners or fables he had called me to say he’d like me to give his property an appraisal. He, in truth which I found out much later, had already given me an appraisal through the peephole and had liked my … ahem … shiny, black heels.

The rest – as they say – is history. In fact, I left his house that day, with the biggest, dorkiest smile on my face and rang my deadbeat boyfriend to dump him. It had been three days since I had heard from him and I knew he was on another bender so when he didn’t answer my phone call – once again – I sent him a text message that went something like this ….. ‘Hi just wondering if you are alive? I’m only asking because it would be really hard to dump you if you were dead….” Harsh? Possibly. But I have seen him since and we had a decent laugh about it. He said he totally deserved it so for someone like me who never likes confrontation or to hurt peoples feelings I felt my conscious heal right then and there! Nearly 7 years later he’s still on a bender by the way! Patting myself on my back right now … Best. Decision. EVER!!

I took a chance though with Number 4. I had no idea whether this gorgeous guy would ever even consider me because I came as a package deal … upgraded! I had three kids and a divorce under my belt. It was one of those moments though that I decided to jump! I had felt something so strong (I know it sounds full-on but its true), something that I had never felf before and I was going to explore it regardless of the outcome … But no exploration needed on my behalf – Number 4 had sussed me out within a week of my doorknocking, he knew that I had children and was still on the phone asking me out…

And so the path of my life changed. Like a bridge to something bigger and better than you could have ever imagined. Where love and respect are normal things, where you are treated like a princess and loved like a lady. Where life suddenly becomes worth more than just living….

One love

DRK xxx

Choking on insecurities and Phobias

I got off to a flying start on this blog. Confident, funny (yes, in my world I am funny) and full of excitement. Fast forward to today and I am full of self-doubt and insecurity. I haven’t had any negative comments, there’s been no ridiculing, no questioning my opinions – only from myself. I feel like I jumped off the deep end fully thinking I was an Olympic swimmer but now I’ve realised that I actually can’t swim and my floaties are on the side of the pool – just out of arms reach.Yep, I think I’ve choked!

It’s like having a phobia and I think I have more than the average person so I’m qualified to make that diagnosis. It’s that same fear…. The heart starts racing, you feel an uncontrollable anxiety and then there’s that little bit of vomit in your throat. One of my biggest phobias is arachnophobia – very common I know. But I am not only scared of real life spiders I am also terrified of the cartoon book variety (yes I said cartoon), the plastic kind (stupid Halloween), painted pictures of spiders on the side of the pest controllers van and even the ones on all those bloody nature/dare-devil TV shows… In all honesty I am so scared of spiders that I didn’t sit on my lounge for 10 days straight because the last time there was a spider, with his sickly skinny legs and running like the wind towards my face – bleh still gives me the heebie-jeebies! I’ve only just returned my butt to the lounge in the last few days although I am resting it tentatively on the edge, constantly swiping at any little breath of wind/hair/imaginary thing that touches me. Unfortunately for me another spider crawled on the lounge last night, I wasnt even sitting there but its a total spider conspiracy! Maybe Superwoman dumped Spidermans ass in a past life or something! Anyway its back to sitting on the floor for me. I’d rather piles anyway.

The other phobia I have is one that has many of my friends baffled. In fact it baffles me. I have never been able to find a ‘phobic’ name for it or find someone who shares the same fear but it’s not from a lack of trying. So here it is, for your entertainment – it is a fear of boogers, bodily fluids/secretions and hair in water. This means I won’t have a bath or use a spa and I very rarely swim. If I am showering and the drain clogs up making water pool around my feet I start to feel nervous and nauseous! It takes a lot of brain power to persuade my hands to reach down and unclog the hair – and its my own!!! It actually makes me feel physically sick and makes my body shudder involuntarily! True story! And when, on the very rare occasion, that I am in a pool it takes every inch of the right side of my brain to reason with myself that I am ok. To convince myself that whatever it was that just touched me (which was more than likely water) was not that big fuzzy guys back hair, or that teenage kid’s pus-filled pimple or that booger from the two-year screaming kid. *Shuddering*

Another silly little phobia I’ve had and started when I was a little girl was sharks. Not the ocean kind but the type that come out of a secret gate in your families swimming pool if you peed in the water…. The pee would activate an alert on my Dad’s watch and an invisible gate would open up to release a big shark to come and eat me…. Who needs superpowers when you have an over-active mind and a little pee! I remember being caught one day standing on the step and peeing into the water to see if it would actually happen. I had obviously placed myself on the step with the intention of hightailing it out of there when the shark gate actually opened! Unfortunately at that very moment when my pee hit the water my Dad walked past! Oh boy was I in trouble but at least it proved my theory that he indeed had a secret alarm on his watch!

The only answers that Dr Google has been able to share with me on my two strange phobias is that Christina Ricci also has a fear of pools. She also believes a magic door will open up and a shark will appear so she will not swim alone. Maybe we can swim together Christina but only if you don’t have hair, a pimple or even a nose!! It gives me a little bit of relief to know there is another human being out there that has at least one of my crazies! Yay for me and my crazies!

On a funny note (unless it’s your phobia of course) did you know hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia is a fear of the number 666? Or that sesquipedalophobia is a fear of long words! A word with 18 letters to describe a person who is frightened of long words?! I guess they’d really be crapping their pants if they were friends with people scared of the number 666 huh!

One love,

DRK xxx

I’m hosting the next OCD meeting at my place ……

Well, how else am I going to get this place clean? It’s like one step forward and two hundred and fifty three sprints back…. It’s a long unforgivable road and I’m actually beginning to wonder ‘what’s in it for me’? There’s not one person, big or small, in this house that notices what it is I do. Even my 15 year old asked me the other day “What do you do all day long?”  I wish I was brave enough to go on strike so they can realise that I don’t sit on the couch all day watching movies and drinking vodka…

Being labelled as a Superwoman I’m beginning to question where my big, fat, superhero pay cheque is at? Did it get lost in the system or did Superhero Headquarters send it to the wrong address? Maybe Santa Claus intercepted it and put it towards the kids Christmas presents? I know, I know, I can hear all the little voices saying that my payment is “Love”! Love… Love… Love… Yip-di-fucking-do! So how come Dad gets love and a pay cheque and one of those cute little shirts you see kids wearing that says “My Daddy is my Superhero”! He also get the bonus of lunch breaks, full night sleeps and sick days when the Man Flu hits town! And then of course there are the toilet breaks he gets too! I can’t even remember the last time I went to the toilet without someone coming in to tell me that they have a green booger, their eye is itchy or that their brother looked at them funny. Before my brain has a chance to catch up my mouth has already yelled “Can’t I just shit in peace?” and they quietly retreat back out the door probably thinking that their Mum really needs to go back to school and learn how to be a lady! But really?! Unless you are broken or bleeding or it’s a life threatening attack from a pack of Tassie Devils then please take your enclosed hand, remove it from the door handle and back away slowly, one step at a time! Sometimes I’d like to be Dad. He’s the Superhero of the family with a pay cheque. Even more importantly he gets to go to the toilet for half an hour at a time and emerges looking like a new man! Oh well, Superwoman doesn’t need to use the toilet – who can get those tights and knickers off anyway…

So let’s go on a journey of what Groundhog Day means when to a Superwoman – let’s be upbeat here and start with the house is clean…. Ok, so the house is clean, kids come home, house is messy, kids go to bed, house is cleaned, kids wake up, house is messy, kids go to school, house gets cleaned, kids come home, house gets messy and so Vodka was born!

Isn’t it typical of a Superhero standing in front of a crowd with their arms on their hips in a powerful stance? They address the crowd with determination and clarity speaking words of truth and fill the crowd with encouragement. The crowd then break into applause filled with pride and comprehension! They are chatting amongst themselves in the crowd “Wow, she’s so amazing!”, “She’s right you know!” “Yes! This isn’t the way it should be!” And so we have been wronged! This is my ‘job’ … So I say pay me or sack me! I am not having a go at our wonderful, hardworking husbands, which is definitely how I would describe mine but I work bloody hard, I am rarely ‘off duty’, I have the biggest and most important job in the world, I carried them, I gave birth to them, I am investing all my time to make sure that they turn into, at the very least, OK human beings. I am doing a pretty reasonable job, the best I can. C’mon Superwomen aren’t we tired of working for LOVE! Wouldn’t love plus a few well earned superhero dollars make our groundhog days more satisfying … Oh well back to the drawing room – that’s where I left my Vodka…..


One Love,

DRK xxx

Confessions of an Over Sharer


I like to share and by that I don’t mean the “Share” button under peoples Facebook statuses. I also don’t like to share drinks, toothbrushes or husbands. Instead I like to share information about myself especially in the company of complete strangers. I’ve heard of Verbal Diarrhea before so I thought I would Google it just to see if such a thing really did exsist and if in fact it was what I was suffering from ….

The results were these definitions:

“A serious disease which, once it has control of a person, causes them to spew forth incoherent babble from the bowels of the voicebox.”

And my favourite:

“A condition suffered by an individual who has the inablility to shut the fuck up.”

My diagnosis: A Moderate to Severe form of Verbal Diarrhea ….

So lets play a game… I’m at the check out and you’re the check-out person. I say “Hi” and you say “Hi, how are you going today?”… Well then, it’s game over! You lost and I won! Coz you crazy son-of-a-gun just opened the flood gates to hear all the inside info of this Superwoman. There is NO simple answer of “Good thanks”; “I’m OK” or “I’m well. And you?”. But instead by the time I’ve finished talking, you’ve bagged my last item (remembering I shop for seven people) and learnt that my baby doesn’t sleep through the night, I have an irrational fear of spiders – even the cartooned variety – and my plans for the future include winning the lotto, inventing a fat-sucking mosquito and never, ever giving birth to any more children.

I’m not an over-sharer because I like people knowing my business but I share because I feel like I owe people an explanation about who I am and so I can answer all the questions that I usually receive – but in one foul swoop! Let me give you an example… The other day I’m at a ladies house picking up an item that I bought from her on a Facebook Buy and Sell page (classy I know!). She is a complete stranger but she’s nice enough. We are chatting away quite comfortably when she blows it by asking me how many kids I have! Before I knew it I had explained to her that “I was on my second marriage”; that “only the two littlest kids were my second husbands biological children”; that “I had been a single mum for two years after my divorce”; and that “I now owed a TV in my bedroom so there wouldn’t be any more kids”. The last one is usually just to bust that joke before someone else does. It’s not quite as funny when they don’t get it though. But seriously! The actual answer to her question was really quite simple. All I had to say was FIVE!




E… Five! I have FIVE children… FULLSTOP. END OF SENTENCE. NO MORE SPEAKING! But I jump ahead so far of the usual question carosuel that I receive of “Wow. Five? What are their ages?” Snowballing next to “Oh thats a big age gap?” And then to “Did you and your husband plan to have such a gap in their ages?” etc … And yes, people really are that invasive sometimes so I just let them have it all! Right from the get-go!

I do, generally, walk away from those conversations thinking “Holy crapballs! Someone get me a bib coz I’m dribbling shit all over the place!”

Divulging so much information, although traumatic for the poor checkout person, gives me the opportunity to explain my life so that I am not unfairly judged. I get to set ‘the story’ straight coz some people have really big imaginations!! As a Superwoman though I think I need to learn to be a little more mysterious… Not everybody needs to know about my dirty red knickers little secrets – which really aren’t that dirty at all… It’s just the way my life paned out!

One love,

DRK xxx

Why Can’t Mosquitos Suck Fat

Wouldn’t that be so much more beneficial if those little suckers sucked fat instead of blood?! It just makes so much more sense to me… Don’t you agree? It’s not a big ask, quite simple really to mess with the order of the universe. It’s like turning a vegan into a carnivore or a chicken into a piece of tofu. No biggie!

I’d even be happy for a couple (hundred) of itchy red lumps just so I could donate some tucker to some starving Mosquitos out there. A few bites and some deep, deep, long, deep, long sucks on my tummy, thighs and butt for that little mozzie so he can take some fat home to feed his family. Poor little guy. He’s a hardworking mozzie after all we should cut the guy some fat slack! It’s his job to bring home the human bacon! How will his kids be able to get a decent education if they can’t concentrate with their hungry bellies? …….

Ahhh I’d even forego the calamine lotion just to enjoy those little itchy bites……

And you see if I was truly Superwoman I would be able to use my superpowers to create a liposuction mosquito to design the amazing post baby body you see in the magazines… But isn’t it so heartbreaking to watch Superwomen being so absorbed in their bodies that they don’t appreciate the gift of life in their arms … Me included!

The pressure I feel to look a certain way after having my fifth child sometimes seems insurmountable! But once again I am busting this myth of “the weight just fell off” 3 days after giving birth! Why are we so competitive with each other? It’s not Superwoman versus Superwoman! It’s Superwoman versus The Villains and then beating the absolute shit out of those terrible villains who are out to destroy lives! Let’s stick together, we don’t need no fat sucking mosquito in our imaginary minds 🙂

One Love,
DRK xxx

I eat cardboard for breakfast

Yep! Its true! Each morning for the past two weeks I’ve been eating cardboard for breakfast! Not the regular shaped-like-a-box type of cardboard. Not even the cardboard that comes to your door delivered by Australia Post each week from an online purchase you’d forgotten you bought… I’m talking the kind of cardboard that is actually in the ceral aisle at the supermarkets. Its brown like cardboard, it swells up when mixed with liquid – like cardboard – and to be honest the flavour is bland like cardboard …. Not that I’ve tasted the real variety, honest I haven’t, but if I ever did I would expect cardboard to taste like this!

So its true. The cardboard that I have fallen in love with is All Bran! Weird right?! I love it for many reasons…. It really does make you ‘regular’, nobody else in my house will touch it with a ten-foot pole and I only need a little bit before I become totally bored with its lack-lustre flavour that my portion control is superb!

Which brings me to portion control…. Portion and control… Two words that are foreign to me when used in cahoots with each other. Seperately I am fine with each word – like ‘Portion’ – The bigger the portion the better. And ‘Control’ – I am in total control of not dripping that chocolate sauce from my spoon… That’s right huh?!

So why portion and control? Well, my husband and I have embarked on a weightloss journey together – he’s doing great, I am actually really proud of him. I’m doing OK but I could be doing better. Mind you, I am cooking every healthy meal for my hubbie while he is home. He does not have to lift a finger nor does he have to use any brain cells to even think about “what” to cook. And then when he goes away for a week someone else cooks for him so the hardest part for him is to simply pick the healthy choices. I on the other hand have five kids to run around after while he’s away. Five kids who want to eat like ALL THE TIME and five kids who do not love the kinds of foods that I am supposed to be eating… Yes, I am throwing a little pity party and quite possibly making excuses but its true. Even though I am Superwoman right?! So I should have some amazing superpowers huh?! I should be able to do anything I set my mind to, isn’t that what you’re thinking! Coz Superwomen are made up of lots of tough and strong-willed thing-a-me-bobs that ensures we are always in control?! Wrong!

I’m busting this clean red knickered myth! Superwomans hair of bouncing golden curls takes hours of bleaching and styling to perfect, her hair is actually poo-brown and frizzy. Her abs of steel come from years and years of yo-yo dieting and a whole lot of spanx in her wardrobe – yep she wears sucker-innerer Bridget Jones style underwear under those tights. And those super high cheekbones! Don’t even get me started on them! They are implants and a whole bucket load of illuminating cream ladies! Seriously! Myth busted!!!

One love ladies!

DRK xxx