Devils Holiday House

School holidays. Such an awesome time in every mothers life. The most wonderful and nurturing time between a parent and child. So many Superwomen are in unison raving about how great these 8 weeks are, how they have so much more time to do lots of fun stuff together, enjoying their family time and proving it with photos and photos of happy faces, wonderful moments. Now with school holidays coming to an end joy is turning to sadness…. There is a bake-off happening around Oz with gourmet lunches and snacks being prepared for their children’s lunch boxes while they are wiping away their tears….

Sadly that’s not me! The only tears I’m shedding is that there are still 1381 minutes til I’m waving the last of my school age children off! In fact I have been sleeping in my party pants for days now! I’m counting down the minutes til I’m free to clean, to pop to the shop, to scratch my arse and pee in peace! Don’t crucify me as I put myself out there in saying this but I am definitely not one of those Superwomen who loves summer holidays! Let me repeat that … I. Am. NOT. One. Of. Those. Superwomen!

I am in no way bagging those wonderful women either, many of them are dear friends! In fact if anything I am actually totally jealous! They really do love this shit! But as for me I simply don’t get it and it makes me feel just a little insecure as a mother. It makes me doubt every maternal instinct I have that I do not want to spend every second breathing in the air my children breathe. I know I am lucky to have children. I know how precious and fragile life is. I enjoy fun and hanging out as much as anyone but some of the things Superwomen put out there makes me wonder if my children actually become possessed at this time. In fact it’s like a holiday house for the Devil and his mates during the summer break. It is most definitely not rainbows and sunshine. Trying to get them out of the house is a nightmare, trying to keep them in is even worse and the amount of “I’m hungry” and “I’m bored” I receive on a daily basis has me in fits of hysterical depression. It’s like someone from Disney came and stole their imagination cause they simply cannot possibly find anything at all to do, not a darn thing!

I’m being real when I say this – some days it’s really challenging! With so many personalities in this house there are always one or two clashing at regular intervals throughout the day. I don’t love spending every minute of my life with people even when they are my children, sometimes five minutes on the loo is like a five-star holiday. And when I get to that point of wanting to pull my hair out I wonder if I am the worst person in the world for wishing the holidays away.

After the particularly hard days and they are all finally asleep I reflect on my day. I sometimes wonder if I will be able to forgive their bad behavior by morning so we can start afresh. And I’m praying they’ll forgive mine! But then I tiptoe into their rooms and I see their angelic, drooling faces, and I know that I don’t have to wait til morning coz all is already forgiven. Little buggers, I’d be totally lost without them….

School now only 1367 minutes away …..

One love
DRK xxx

Selfie Fail

Selfies have come and gone (ok probably not) …. It’s been a fun, hardly exciting few years of seeing all the ways people can take photos of themselves. Really its very clever but surely with all the technology in the world today we can do better than these following selfie trends……

Like the mirror selfies ………

Do I really need to say it? C’mon selfie-lovers!! Location! Location! When you are taking a photo of yourself in a mirror chances are everything else in that room will also be photographed! Is it just me or is there something really not hot about a baby strapped to your chest while a toilet seat sits open in the background and you don’t even have the passion for your picture-messaging-lover to pull your jeans all the way down! I wonder is she actually sending a cryptic puzzle to her man …. Butt+pooping-machine+empty-toilet-roll = Huni we’re out of toilet paper!?! Let’s be honest that is a really cute butt BUT there’s got to be a better way to showcase it!!

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Then there are the duck face selfies…. I’m begging you, please tweenies stop! AND if you’re not a tweenie and you are doing the duck-face for real than I can only hope you are not reproducing! There are not many people in the world who find it attractive in fact the only thing in the world that finds it sexy is the poor duck you’re imitating…. So therefore only Donald Duck thinks you’re hot!!! And I really do hate to be the bearer of bad news but he’s not even real… NOT. REAL.LADIES. And while we are on the ‘not real’ subject neither is Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy! Duck faces be gone *waving my supermagic wand*!!!!!!

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Boob selfies….. I know! I may be crucified by boob lovers all over the world and trust me when I say I aprreciate a good looking rack when I see one even as a heterosexual woman but put them away girls and save your dignity! I wonder if you realise when you press “Send” or click on “Upload” that photo it is going to be out there for the rest of your life to haunt you if necessary! Boobs are great, they’re useful, great to look at and quite often damn sexy but they are something you can’t have a conversation with (unless you are my husband) and something I’m not comfortable “Like”ing or commenting on.

boob selfiesSee? I don’t even know whose boobs these are ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^ but now they are on my screen and anyone can gawk look at them….. Oh and they’re lovely by the way  ….. SEE?!!! Now that just sounded wrong and totally Superwoman-of-five-kids inappropriate!

Hot dog leg selfies….. Oh definitely the latest craze! I see these popping up everywhere on social media outlets especially now summer has hit our Australian soil! At first when these came about I thought they didn’t realise they had their legs in the photo but I have since learnt that at the right angle, with the right amount of sunlight and shade and typically with a nice backdrop you can achieve the hot dog selfie…. Anyone else all of a sudden hungry?

Hot dog selfie

Now this has got to be the worst of all – it’s relatively new and completely rude…. The Funeral selfie! Who does that?! Seriously! Whenever I’ve attended a funeral I am generally …. um…. you know whats that word … oh yeah that’s the one… grieving!! You are there celebrating the life of the person who has just passed and passing on your respects to their family – I don’t think celebrating your face on social media is pertinent! I have very few words to say/explain/justify this one so I’ll leave you with a few images of these ‘sad’ individuals instead …..

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funeral selfie

Funeral selfie sad

A duck face as well as a funeral selfie … Nice one!

And this one takes the cake, his Grandma must be so proud!

Funeral selfie bbad

Anyhow …. I’m leaving many words left unsaid to all of those ^^^^^! So instead let’s put our hands together now for some selfies gone wrong. Some terribly wrong – think *puke, vomit* – but mostly they’re just a little bit funny because you know they were intended to sexy or cute selfies!!

SGW SGW1 SGW2 SGW3 SGW4

I know how important the angle of the photo is – it slims the jawline, accentuates the cleavage and highlights the fact you didn’t flush the toilet!!!!!!!!

*Gagging*

Ok, ok lets finish this with something cute instead!

Selfie cute

Awwwww……….. Now that’s something to snap about! Happy days!

One love,
DRK xxx

How To Lose Your Muffin Top

It’s been 16 days since my little footsies have touched the plastic-metal-square-numbered thingy. It’s been 16 days without any double digits burning into my eye sockets and depleting the last of my poor self esteem atoms. 16 long and wonderful days…. Wonderful because I’ve eaten when I was actually hungry. I’ve eaten what I actually felt like eating – good or bad – and I’ve become super aware of how different foods actually make me feel. Not feel as in the guilt or shame I once felt because the scales had told me I was already fat that morning but feel as in the massive sugar comedowns and the feeling that someone has shat in my mouth from all the unknown agents in packaged food. Let me tell you when you become food aware you realize those unknown agents sure can shit and it tastes really fucking bad!

So for 16 days (plus the few additional weeks of ‘Christmas Spirit’ before that) I’ve inhaled foods I wouldn’t normally on such a regular basis and I’ve enjoyed every second of the freedom. People are telling me how great I look because I’m happy and I don’t question their motives when once upon ago it was one of my biggest “over-thinking” items in my catalogue of overthinking things.

I feel lighter without all the mental baggage but in truth I know I would still have a melt down if I stood on that numbered bitch today because she would still define me by a number. This is the reason this is a 365 day challenge and not a two week challenge because nothing has changed except the way I feel about myself without the numbers. But this new feeling needs to set, like concrete, before a scale should ever tell me anything ever again.

So as part of my (mental) transformation I’ve sold all of my “motivational” pants and tops – you know the ones? They’re the pants that you try on and they’re a little tight but you get them anyway coz “one day” you’ll fit in them. They’ll be a great motivation, you think. They’ll encourage you to make healthy eating choices and to exercise every day. Big news people PANTS CANT TALK! They do not have a voice. They will not tell you that your bum does indeed look big in them and to get that arse moving now before you spilt them right down the middle! And, now that I’ve realised they won’t actually talk to me I can say, for me personally, that they haven’t been motivational at all! They just tell me that the outfit a size too small gives me a muffin top. Yet, shockingly, in the right size clothes there is no muffin top at all. Now put that on a magazine cover – “Lose your muffin top in three minutes! Guaranteed!”

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16 days is only a small amount of time when taken from 365 but they are small steps in the right direction for a much more fulfilling life. Hell I’m even inspiring myself with how I’ve changed! Now that’s something to write about!

One love,
DRK xxx

Sometimes “Home” is not where you live

I’m feeling rather sentimental today – perhaps even emotional. It might be because I’ve just spent the morning with a long time friend that I haven’t seen in awhile or the fact I’ve spent my spare ten minutes flicking through a house magazine wondering about the meaning I’ve put on bricks and mortar.

Home is

For such a long time I’ve resisted the change which is coming – moving to a more inland (a.k.a – hot and dusty) location. I’ve resisted it because I’ve been brought up two minutes from the ocean all my life bar the first five years. So I’ve always been able to hear the waves crashing if not see them. Even from my table now I can look out and see the sea breeze coming in off the water. I can see our beautiful coastline of blues and greens, the red and white lighthouse and the busy port. I see kite surfers at Backers enjoying our windy city weather and the many ships waiting on the horizon. I know how lucky I am to have this.

And this is my house. Where my heart has felt most at home. This is the place I’ve lived for just five years but it’s the house I came to as a little girl to visit my Grandfather. He built this house for his wife and daughters. My grandmother that I never met walked these hallways and it is here I feel I can at least acknowledge her life, that she did exist. I know she must of have been an amazing woman because she is the mother of another amazing woman … My Mum.

So because of this love I don’t see the flaking paint on the ceiling or the peeling corners of the wallpaper. Even the brown and orange tiles, together with the green and blue carpet doesn’t phase me even though I am an Interior Stylist and it should because it goes against all I’ve been taught and all that I know. To renovate this house has always been a dream of mine. But it wasn’t my husbands dream….

He’s a farm boy at heart. He loves the quiet remote life. The dust and the flies. He’d love noting more than to whisk us all, away to a remote station somewhere. Where he could work the land, raising sheep and cattle while I would run our little homestead on the huge piece of Australian soil of ours. Knowing this huge financial burden wasn’t attainable in his immediate future he instead bought a smaller piece of land prior to meeting me to build his dream home. This, he envisioned, would be a simple three bedroom home occupied by his farmer wife and their two kids, a boy and a girl. Little did he know that his future actually included a “beach city” wife who already had three children of her own and then had another two boys together. The acreage, the three bedroom house and white picket fence no longer existed quite so simply for his future. More likely a noisy five bedroom home with a cranky city wife who doesn’t like the hot inland air.

It’s not about being the bigger person and ‘giving up’ my dream for him. It’s not about letting him have his way, I’m not. I’m not because my dream also includes a loving husband, my children, a roof over my head, happiness, love, respect and my family close by. Financial security, great friends, living and breathing and laughter are also on my big dream list! I will still have all of that and more. Nothing can take those things away unless I let them be taken. In the past I thought I was letting him win. That I was ripping myself off from what I wanted. I thought by letting this happen it meant his dream was more important than mine and if I didn’t at least put up a fight I would not be honouring myself. But I’ve spent 29 of the 34 years of my life living near the ocean. Maybe that means the next 29 will be in lived in the dust and hanging with the friendly flies and that’s ok, hell I may even like it ‘out there’!

Whatever happens though I know how lucky I am, how lucky I’ve been AND

how grateful I should remain for everything I have in my life…

Joie de Vivre

My new tattoo “Joie de Vivre” means “living with joy”. It’s a simple (and permanent) reminder that home is not just where the heart is but also where ever those that you love are. I inked myself with this in memory of my brother. He fought a battle no one ever should and with his passing he inspired those he loved to live happier.  So I’ve chosen to acknowledge that home isn’t just one singular place, one built with bricks and mortar but it is where ever my bunch of crazies are at. It’s time to let go of the material attachment I have and live in the heart, a place we are all most happiest in. I can’t say it’s going to be that simple but I can say I am going to make that change as best I can.

Does anyone else feel like they have had to ‘give’ something up to honour their relationship? If so, why….

One love,

DRK xxx

World of Warriors

Somewhere between women burning their bras to now has seen the role of ‘wife’ become quite confusing. The stay at home world of a Superwoman is not quite as simple as staying at home anymore it seems. There is this ‘busy’ complex that creates a competitive dynamic between households of who holds the most out of house curriculum activities, while still maintaining the facade of a display like home, well-manicured nails, a perfect relationship and gifted children (none of which I can lay claim to). If it’s not a week of afternoon kids activities to taxi through or personal gym sessions so your body is socially acceptable, well then it’s overnight personal development courses to fix the problem you have with your image in the first place, hot date nights to secure the picture of your ‘perfect’ relationship or a destination wedding you can’t afford to attend.

Spare minutes seem few and far between and if there are short spurts of time that become available then they are quickly rescheduled into coffee and play dates, spring cleans before the in-laws visit and online shopping to fill your house with more ‘things’ you don’t even need. I am a perpetrator of this ‘busy’ fixation. I fill up my days with anything I can to keep busy (and possibly so I can ignore the ceiling high ironing pile I have that would put the Leaning Tower of Pisa to shame).

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It was only a few months ago when something made me discover my ‘I’m so busy’ fascination. It was a Thursday. Windy, slightly fresh but really just a typical day here in G-Town. Thursdays had become ‘daycare’ day for my Mr3 and it was time to pick him up. After signing him out I helped him into the car while at the same time zipping his daycare bag up, buckling his baby brother in and talking on the phone to my Dad to organise a lift for my older sons soccer training. I had so many places to be that afternoon – picking up Mr3 by 3:30 (tick), dropping Mr9 at soccer at 3:45 and Mr12 at basketball at 4:15. Then picking up Mr9 at 4:45, Mr12 at 5:00 and Miss15, from her after school job at 5:15. I may have a split personality and even be two-faced at times but I haven’t developed the superpower of multiplying myself … Well not yet, that’ll come after I’ve developed the amazing mosquito who sucks fat! https://superwomanseven.com/2013/11/05/why-cant-mosquitos-suck-fat/


In my defence for what is about to follow please note that his menagerie of tasks were preceded by the morning school run, a full day of shopping (not for leisure), the afternoon school pick-up (x3) and the after-school-job drop-off…. But back to the story …. I am juggling zipping up the bag and buckling the seatbelts of my precious cargo while also over-thinking all the tasks set before me. I frantically ask my Dad “Can you take Ari to soccer?” Yes, he says, he’s on his way to Lawn Bowls anyway. “Great! He has to be at bowls by 4.” He has to be a bowls? Dad chuckles “No, no I mean soccer!” I’m clearly losing focus at this point but if you had of asked me I would have said that I had this balancing act shit sorted! Then all of a sudden it hits me! My mobile is missing! It’s like having a mini tornado rip through your chest cavity when you suddenly become aware your little technology buddy has disappeared. It is, after all, your life line. It holds all your phone numbers (so you never have to remember any number again including your own), all of your “contacts” details (some of whom you are actually friends with), hell it even holds evidence (via text message) that you told your husband four months ago that you’ve planned a trip away with the girls next month!  So I start searching! Parked up in the daycare carpark, on show for everyone to see. I’m searching like a mad woman possessed by a dead man on Viagra! I’m checking the daycare bag, the centre console, my pockets, in the exhuast, everywhere. A few minutes linger and I twig……….. I am totally wasting my Dads time! I need to concentrate damn it! This shit is important! It’s a distorted exchange of words (on my part), I’m not making any sense at all and my mind is evidently not on the conversation at hand. So I say “Sorry Dad I gotta go – I can’t find my phone.” No worries, he says. We hang up………….. It’s then and only then that I finally become conscious! There resting in my hand after being surgically removed from my ear is that beloved little device … Yep the ‘missing’ phone! DOH!! It’s kinda like the I-can’t-find-my-sunnies-oh-they’re-on-my-head trick – which I had also done earlier that day.

 

This was THE golden moment! The moment I discovered that this was my life’s definition of busy. I was doing too much of everything while totally over-thinking it all. It meant nothing was getting done properly, no genuine love and attention was on offer and I was ripping off everyone involved in my busy life including myself. I wasn’t really listening to my son tell me about his day, I hadn’t nurtured my baby who had been stuck in the car for hours and my Dad, who was doing me a favour, didn’t even get a thank you!

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I had to admit at that point that being busy had become an addiction. There’s a little part of me that wanted (and still wants) every day filled with stuff so I can avoid the ‘other’ stuff – like ironing or on a deeper level, being present. But I also know that the curriculum I’ve set myself is profoundly fulfilling – when completed right. It fulfils all the different variables of “me” that I am passionate about. Whether it’s my stylist business and love of colours to my volunteer work and love of contribution or to my blog writings that are a release of stale energy which clears me. But what I need to learn is how to make this work for me so my success is more gratifying. I need to organise myself so that I am only doing one at a time so I can do that one thing well. Is there any Superwoman (or Superman) who has this mastered, or are at least almost there? Who has this balance of life, children, career and passions fully sorted? And are you willing to share any hot tips to get this Superwoman into a better state of wife/mother/career life?? Who has an app for this?!

 

One love,

DRK xxx

Am I REALLY about to blog about this?

I’m having an affair….

Yes, it is love but it’s a different love than I share with my husband… Speaking of my husband, it’s not a secret – he knows all about it. He’s ok with it. Actually he’s probably more than just ok with it because as a traditional man with old school values, he thinks it’s a necessary attribute a stay at home superwife should have. So, yeah, I am in love … With my vacuum cleaner. There! I’ve said it … Out loud … For the world to hear! What’s that? You don’t understand what I am trying to say? Let me repeat it for you slowly …  I’M.   IN.   LOVE.   MY.   VACUUM.   CLEANER. Yep, I’m coming out of the laundry closet to declare my love and commitment for my DC54 Dyson!

As a real Superwoman I certainly don’t love all my chores but if there was any one chore in the whole housework world that I had to do for the rest of my life I would choose vacuuming, it wins hands down! Even when I win Lotto and I hire myself a full-time cleaner the contract will state they are NOT to vacuum – that’s for me to do! Unlike washing! Every little aspect of it bugs me! Loading the dirty, stinky clothes and then hanging them out just because the big fat white machine beeped at me and told me to! I hate the constant – new-item/hang/peg-on/new-item/hang/peg-on *yawn* cycle. But it’s still not over coz then those bloody things dry! So it becomes the peg-off/fold-clothes/put-into-basket/peg-off/fold-clothes/put-into-basket over and over again. And then! AND THEN you still have to take it all back inside and iron those squillion little pieces of clothing and from recent posts you know how great I am at that! This is the one and only time I ever think I’d possibly be happy living in a nudist’s camp! Isn’t it the most mundane task in the world?! Unlike vacuuming… Vacuuming has instant results!

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I especially love the sound of those big items getting munched – it’s a cheery little noise don’t you think?! Like Lego. Have you ever stepped on a piece of Lego? Then you’ll know what I mean when I say that shit really hurts! I hate the little rogues but I love it when I get my revenge and suck those buggers into the cyclonic barrel…. The sound is pure joy. Sometimes when I am feeling really naughty I delay the Lego retribution like I’m a gunslinger from a western movie ready for a fast draw! I’ll take a moment before settling the score, building the suspense I think to myself “Do my boys really need that piece of Lego?”; “Do I need to bend down and pick it up?” But then it’ll dawn on me … If it truly was such an integral piece in the Lego construction world it wouldn’t be there lying on the floor now would it? Then it happens… clinkedly-clink-clinkedly-clink-clinkedly-CLANK! He’s gone! And there he sits in the translucent bagless cylinder where we can all still see him! You want him? You go get him!

But do you know the very best thing about a vacuum cleaner? No – you’re still not with me are you? Well it’s the sound! That soothing hum of white noise that drowns everything else out – vital when you live with a small community of freakishly loud individuals that some people may call children. It’s well known in this household not to mess with this Superwoman when I have a loaded vacuum cleaner in hand. Whinge, whine, ask over and over and over again for a lolly – go on I dare you – I can’t hear you anyway! Now isn’t that just paradise!

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Whose with me on this? Or is there another chore I should know about that is lovable?

One Love,

DRK xxx 

A New Jar Year

Well, I popped the top on my Memory Jar of 2013! It was an uneventful occasion but I’m not really sure what I was expecting seeing as I had already opened that lid numerous times to put the ‘memories’ in it. I guess I was kind of hoping for some fireworks, maybe a bit of inspirational music to suddenly begin playing in the background or at the very least hear a popper-like banging sound that echoes the world at 12am New Years Day. But instead the faulty clip just clicked open crookedly as normal, the pretty lace flower on the top fell off as per usual and I once again thought to myself that I should probably stick that pretty little thing back on properly (I didn’t).

But this time instead of dropping a piece of paper into the jar I finally got to tip it all out!

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Clearly there are not 365 pieces of paper in there but its a damn good “first attempt” (in my opinion). I’m so glad that I committed, ahem remembered, to add memories to the memory jar because sitting down reading those colourful pieces of paper has reminded me of short moments of time that I may of otheriwse forgot. I’ve been able to have a giggle, make a few aww and nawww sounds and best of all it kinda made my heart feel all fuzzy – not hungover fuzzy but real-life-lovable fuzzy.

One of the first I read was by my usually grouchy 12 year old. He had written “I got 100% in my first Maths test” – well done mate I was proud of you then and I’m proud of you now! Then I had written one on a small pink piece of paper “Tiarna’s first kiss”. And then there’s my 9 year olds longwinded and breathless version of playing ball “Oska and I were playing soccer and Oska kicked the ball out of bounds and then I threw the ball and then I kicked the ball and then it went into the basketball hoop.” Hooley dooley mate thats sounds pretty cray-cray!! I also smiled when I see that my Mum has secretly put one in there without me knowing “Don’t forget! Nana loves you all!” And yes that includes me even though she’s not technically my Nana!

There are two in particular that I like because I remember them as if they are happening all over again. But maybe they are even funnier now then they were then, particulary the first one!  These memories could possibly be of those “You had to be there” kind but that’s not going to stop me sharing with you…..

‘Feb 2013 – Mum shaved her underarms with toothpaste instead of shaving cream!’ How is this even possible you may wonder? How on earth could a tube of toothpaste be mistaken for a bottle of shaving cream? Well in support of myself it was one of those standing-push-the-top kind of toothpastes and it was grey with aqua blue – my husbands shaving cream bottle is grey and aqua blue! It seriously (on first glance) looked like a gel shaving cream I swear!!! I know, I know, I am not sure if I would believe it either but it actually happened to me! But the best part about this memory is that it was a minty toothpaste which, let me tell you, did NOT leave a cool refreshing feeling once my husbands blunt razor had scratched its way across my underarms… No it was definitely NOT feeling minty fresh hell I was stinging like the queen bee had had a girls night with all her stinging virgin queen bees at my underarms expense! Thanks Ladies!

‘March 1st 2013 – Chevy and Mum are sitting at the dinner table. Chevy (3 years old) is eating his lunch quietly. Mum is reading her mag. Chevy looks up and asks quite innocently “Mum?”, “Yes, Chevy?”, “Mum, I’m not allowed to say Fuck Hell am I?” *Choke* *Cough* *Splutter* *Giggle* *Regain Composure* “No Chevy you’re not allowed to say Fuck Hell.” ‘ That is one of those moments that you as a parent really pat yourself on the back coz A) You managed to repeat a swearword to your three-year-old son and B) That you know somehow in between all the swearing you’ve obviously been doing is that you’re son is smart enough to know he is not allowed to say those words.

So …… A couple of real proud memories there. Maybe not memories people would display on their Facebook statuses or talk about at a Mothers Group meeting but these are real life moments in this Superwomans world minus the fluff and fake stuff. And even though I would rather my daughters first kiss to be when she’s 80 I know that when she is a mother and we are trying to recall her ‘first’ moments I will be able to pull out my Memory Jar Book Chapter One: 2013 and be able to tell her. Then, and only then, can laugh and reminicse.

Memory Jar Book

2014 will see a new jar and more memories! Its something I know so many people would get enjoyment out of and if you are one of those people then go now – empty out your coffee jar, cut a corner out of your nanas lace tablecloth (the side she doesn’t sit on) and start creating your own little jar to fill with real moments and memories. It’s worth it I promise!

One love,

DRK xxx