Fashionable new position for the stepmum.
I am excited to announce I have a new job!
Meet the new PR Manager for the Mercedes-Benz Fashion Festival Brisbane, a fantastic showcasing of emerging, local, state, national and international design talent.
I am thrilled to have a fabulous, new venture to focus on for a few months, and it means for me that I can legitimately grab more take-aways for dinner and insist that my husband has a crack at the grocery shopping again.
For the kids, they’ll think that it means their indiscretions, such as not ironing their school uniforms or spending more time on Facebook, will fly under the radar.
Regardless of how many pocket-money deductions there may or may not be, or whether Indian or Thai curries will rule, it’s going to be an even busier few months and that doesn’t unnerve me.
Not at all, I love working and I thrive on being busy, but…
There is just one small, niggling hesitation.
100 and a half..Goodbye Grandma x
My father was sorting through his mother’s papers last week after she passed away and found a newspaper article from decades ago, titled, “The high cost of Funerals”.
Grandma had circled a number of points that she wished to be enacted for her funeral one day.
No eulogy, no silly poems, no soppy music, no speeches and for the coffin to be closed and to make sure it was ‘nailed down tight’.
Like kids sneaking out after dark, my dad, his brother and sister had the wicked joy of ignoring their mum and doing the complete opposite but this time without fear of retribution. After all the nails were in pretty tightly.
At the funeral, except for the shut coffin, there were touching speeches, four eulogies, a DVD slide show of her life set to music from her teens, some tears and plenty of hilarious recounts of her life.
She would have been cranky but secretly would have loved it.
Doris Maud Donovan was born in 1911 and lived for exactly 100.5 years.
A pretty remarkable milestone, considering for 100 of those years she was in fine health and had all her faculties. But a bad fall and a break, triggered the end of a full life.
She never drove a car…
Raising kids…it’s kinda like sailing..
This Easter, for the first time, our family is scattering in the wind.
Almost literally for my husband.
While I am heading to Perth with the youngest daughter for a waterpolo competition, two of my step-daughters are heading to their mum’s, the other two are spending the chocolate break with friends, while my husband is putting all of his hands on deck to sail in the Brisbane to Gladstone yacht race.
I went and watched him in training last week and he’s not bad at hoisting.
The great kid clothing rule!
My fabulously opinionated, often indignant and perhaps slightly delusional, second eldest daughter, just walked into my bedroom…Angry! Furious!
She was steaming having discovered that her sister, the next one down and almost three years younger, had stolen three, (not one , no, not two, but) THREE! of her shirts.
In her words, her sister ‘bleeps me to tears”.
Despite the lack of tears, she expressed her fury at this clothing indiscretion, as she wore a pair of orange, skinny jeans that belonged to the said thief sister.
And she had in fact made the unbelievably outrageous discovery as she herself was rifling through the bandit’s wardrobe to try and ‘just” borrow some of her clothes.
Kids talk!…the new french.
Je suis repeter des lecons de francais pour la troisieme fois.
For those, who can’t read french, I want you to know, I am excellent at it.
For those who can, ne le dites anybody je ne peux pas.
To translate; I am repeating french lessons for the third time.
Not because I am a slow language learner..Non, non, non!
It’s because I am dedicated to perfecting it.
It’s the same mindset I have applied to mastering the many other languages that I have experienced in my home.
My french classroom!
The family government..Vote 1
It seems electioneering is everywhere. Queensland, Moreton Bay, United States, Germany!
When you think about it, families are like governments, constantly in campaign-mode and often childish.
There are leaders, (parents or older siblings depending on the issue) trying to win a popularity contest and stay in power;
Voters, (kids) trying to work out what’s in it for them;
Skewed polling(children arguing that everyone else is allowed to);
Irritating, repetitive catch-cries (slogans such as ‘I CAN’t DO…it”);
Lies(” it wasn’t me”); back-flips( “no I will do my chore, don’t take my pocket-money”); name-calling(too many to highlight); and work that grinds to a halt around key dates.
Take my government, I mean family for instance.
Get on line with your kids!
A friend phoned the other day and asked how much time I allowed my 5 girls to spend online, each day.
Another, wanted to know how I controlled facebook.
And my second eldest step-daughter has asked for the hundredth time to have wireless access in her room.
The forces have aligned, so I’ve taken it as a sign to tackle this internet issue.
Unleash your inner Viking!
Wicked, scheming women, men who want to be kings or kingmakers, devious plots, religious debates, sexual affairs, back-stabbing, betrayal, murders and plenty of revenge. The ingredients in
Bernard Cornwell’s series of viking novels are delicious and more-ish.
Probably because, just like following a good recipe, they’re all based on facts.
what to do if you don’t like your stepchild?
Or alternatively if they don’t like you?
I have experienced a degree of this dilemma and it’s arguably the biggest problem facing blended families.
Heading into a new union with extras already onboard…Is it a deal breaker?
TITS on the Track (Milford)
It’s almost embarrassing, that the stand-out, remarkable memory of hiking one of the world’s most famous and spectacularly scenic hiking tracks is, collectively, strapping tape, shoelaces and a rubber band.
That’s not to say it’s my favourite moment, rather the one that instantly flicks to mind when I’m asked to recount the four day trek.
Karryn Wheelans 