So Long, Farewell, Auf Weidersehen, Goodbye...

If you're here looking for FlogYoBlog Friday, it's on holiday at Tis The Life this week! Thanks to everyone who volunteered to host it!

Where's My Glow? is shutting down.

Wow, that was a bit melodramatic, wasn't it? But it is kinda true, and hey, it got your attention, didn't it?

I'm going on holiday to Kota Kinabalu and rather than posting four times a week I will be swimming, playing at the water park (inside the resort), drinking cocktails, having massages and manicures and basically being a dumb white tourist for eight glorious days at the Tajung Aru Resort and Spa. Yes, spa.

Cocktail at sunset? YES PLEASE!

On top of that I will NOT be washing, cooking, cleaning, folding or scrubbing (or procrastinating instead of doing them which is actually what happens most of the time) for eight days. EIGHT DAYS! What a fantastic 30th birthday present (not til next month, but hey, close enough)!

I can see you turning green with envy through your screen (check your webcam is off, maybe I'm stalking you).

The last time I went on a relaxing holiday was my honeymoon. Now, three years later we're taking a toddler to a resort with a kid's club he's too young to go to... we may just be mad. Seeya!

So give me your trips for traveling in Asia with a toddler!

FlogYoBlog Friday: The Speak Out Edition

Good Morning, Floggers and Flogettes, hope you're all well and ready to Speak Out today!

What is Speak Out? Well, I'm glad you asked.

Speak Out is an international domestic violence awareness campaign and fundraiser - an initiative created by honourary Aussie Wanderlust and BlogCatalog.

Social media users everywhere are going to Speak Out against domestic violence in the way we know best - blogging, tweeting, updating our Facebook statuses and actually getting out their in real life (yes, it does exist - it's bright out there, take sunglasses).

The more people that join in, the more successful the campaign will be and the more men and women will realize there really is help out there for them if they're experiencing domestic violence. For more information, to get involved, grab the button and to enter some amazing competitions visit Kristin's Speak Out page on Wanderlust!

But first, as always, let's Flog!

P.S. I'm going on holidays and will be shutting up shop for a week. So FlogYoBlog Friday is going on holiday too! Next week it'll be hosted by Sara at Tis The Life.

<center><a href="http://www.wheresmyglow.com/search/label/FlogYoBlog"><img src="http://i695.photobucket.com/albums/vv316/mummy-time/FlogYoBlog/flogyoblog-1.jpg " border="0" alt="FYBF" /></a> </center>

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10 Reasons Why I Don't Follow You On Twitter

So this is the third installment of 'Why I Don't' posts, hot on the heels of Why I Don't Read Your Blog and Why I Don't Comment On Your Blog. In short, it's a thinly veiled bitch session.

Twitter is my favourite thing in the world (@glowless in case you were wondering). Awake at midnight? Go talk to someone! Something important happens in the world? Find out within mere minutes - most of the time from eye witnesses (and RTs) more than half an hour before it gets on even the top news sites. But mostly it is where I go for shits and giggles with my buddies from all around the world... and to avoid housework, obviously.

10 Reasons Why I Don't Follow You On Twitter

1. You're a company and the only thing you tweet is your latest deal over and over again. If I wanted to see so many damn ads I'd watch commercial television. Twitter is an amazing marketing tool but you have to engage with me. This also counts if you use your business account to just retweet your own blog account. If there is no point of difference between the two, one has to go.

2. You only retweet others. If I want to know what they're saying, I'll follow them thankyouverymuch. Say something original but preferably not just a blow by blow account of what you're doing unless you happen to be "doing" a celebrity.

3. You have no bio. I know, I know, they can be a bitch to write but it is the biggest make or break for me. I need to immediately know if you're a person or a company, if we have anything in common and if you're going to give me some level of entertainment. And further to this please list your location to the nearest city... if you put your location as "Earth" I'll just think you're a dickhead or an alien. Same goes if your avi is that stupid bloody egg.

4. Your name, Twitter handle and blog name are so different to each other that I have no idea who the hell you are. Here's a hint, if they're really different put the information in your bio, there's even a special spot for a link so USE IT! Make it easy for me, people!

5. You tweet quotes and pretend they're your own. Just like the other eleventy hundred bajillion people on the interwebz, I got that viral email in 2003 too, so I've heard the joke before. You're not fooling anyone, mister!

6. You follow and unfollow me to get my attention. Now this can be used as a way of covertly gauging if someone has intentionally unfollowed you or if the phantoms of the Twittersphere have worked their evil magic again and just kicked you off a list. But once you've done it once and I don't follow back, perhaps it's a useful clue. It smacks of desperation when you do it weekly, so don't. This is even worse if you're a business - yes, I'm looking at YOU Perth video making company that shall remain nameless.

7. You use too many hashtags. Do #you #really #need #every #single #word to be one? This is of course null and void if your hashtags are hilarious and involve mention of nipples, wine and/or Glow Jobs.

8. Your tweets are set to private. WHY?!?!?! Twitter is about being in a global conversation, don't cut yourself out of it! It doesn't make sense so I automatically think you're a douche and won't follow you. If for some incredible reason I do send a follow request, whenever I go to RT you I get a little warning from Twitter telling me I'm RTing protected content... it's annoying in a first world problem kinda way.

9. All your tweets are about your damn cat and your lonely single life. Unless you're Bridget Jones and can tell me some saucy stories about getting it on with Daniel Cleaver, whining all the freaking time about your non existent social life is just infuriating. Join an online dating site or, I dunno, put down Mr Snuggles for a goddamn minute and go out in to the real world for once.

10. You tweet racist, homophobic, xenophobic, sexist crap under the thin veneer of humour and the protection afforded you for being considered a celebrity social commentator. There is no excuse for being a bigoted twat, grow up.

Why don't you follow someone on Twitter? I'm expecting the new little bird on the scene might get a mention here.

OH MA GAWD Party Tricks

There comes a point at your work/family/casual birthday/engagement/Christmas party that everyone (well everyone around me) has had a few drinks and it comes time to compare party tricks.

Matt can touch his tongue to his nose, Steve can burp the alphabet, Kate can put on her lipstick with her boobs... or was that Molly Ringwald? Anyway, everyone has some sort of trick and they range from pathetic to OH MA GAWD how can you do that?!

My party tricks also range from the pathetic to the OH MA GAWD but sadly I did them in the wrong order in this video so rather than building to an awesome crescendo the following clip is rather sad and anticlimactic... much like most birthday/engagement/Christmas parties. Enjoy.

P.S. No, I wasn't drinking when I did this (that's the hair vlog, pay attention)
P.P.S. Yes, I realize it does appear that I'm drunk, but I'm not, I'm just naturally bubbly/stupid/extroverted
P.P.P.S. Best still frame EVER!

A Manifesto for Mums - Review & Giveaway

This post is sponsored by The Smile Collective... but the sappy sentimental stuff is all mine

The interwebz has been getting me down a bit lately.

It seems that lots of people, lots of Bloggers, seem to be going through a bit of a funk and since I'm one of those people who feed off the emotions of those around me, I can feel myself being sucked down. If you're crying, I'll weep. If you're hurting, I ache. If you spew, so do I, but that's taking the example a little too far.

At the peak of my doldrums, Kelly Exeter from The Smile Collective contacted me to see how I'd feel about reviewing (and giving away, yay!) the inspirational prints for Mums and kids she wrote and designed and it was like a little beacon of light had shone in to my world. Sounds totally corny, right? Well kinda, but if you think of it like pop-corny it's less like a boring vegetable and way more fun.

I've been staring at the Manifesto for Mums since it arrived... it's propped up against my bookcase because I still haven't gotten to the shops to get a gorgeous frame for it. But you know what? That's OK. Because I'm an awesome mother. I'm not trying to show off, or say that I'm better than you, but I am serious. Tricky is kept (mostly) clean, fed, entertained, guided and loved. I'm not a perfect mother, but I'm a bloody good at it, a fact that the Manifesto helped me to remember when my mood, much like my still breastfeeding mammaries, was less than perky. I wish I'd had this on those long nights of feeding through gritted teeth, so I could look up and see "trust your instincts" *coughgreatbabyshowerpresentcough*.

The Manifesto for Kids is everything I want for Tricky. I want him to explore the world and marvel at it's intricacies; to make a mess and be so completely covered in mud that I have to strip his clothes off at the back door before a warm bath; to run and play and climb and scrape his knee but be having such a brilliant time that he doesn't even notice. I know with a crazy mama the odds are stacked against him a little bit... but he will know he is loved and he will know that it is more than OK to just be a kid. And with this hanging in his room (yes, once I get off my backside and get a frame), he will be reminded every morning when he wakes *coughgreatchrissypresentcough*.

If you need a reminder that you or someone you know is an amazing mum and that kids just need to be kids then tell me below one of your favourite childhood memories. Three winners will be chosen and each will receive an A3 poster print of both the Manifesto for Mums and the Manifesto for Kids valued at $60.

Find The Smile Collective on Facebook and chat Kelly on Twitter @kellyexeter... in fact, you already might have!

Entry is open to Australian residents only. Entries close at 10pm AEDST on Monday 20th November 2011 at which time three winners will be chosen using a random number generator. Make sure you sign in to the comment platform with a valid email address/twitter handle or leave your details as part of your comment so you can be contacted. Winners have one week to reply to notification, failing that, the prize will be redrawn. The prize is provided by The Smile Collective and is not transferable.

Nuffnang Blog Awards, Here I Come

Where will you be on December 16 this year? At your house falling off the roof while you try to put up thousands of little twinkly lights? At the shops having trolley wars while you dive for the bon bons that have been marked down, surrounded by hundreds of people panicking about Christmas only being a week away? Or, will you be all glammed up to join 500 bloggers in Kuala Lumpur for the Nuffnang Asia-Pacific Blog Awards 2011 at the Putrajaya Marriot? I know where I’d like to be and here’s my top three reasons why:

1. I am obsessed with blogging and Bloggers (see that capital B? That's a whole extra level of respect right there) so the opportunity to chat to a room full of them, swapping tips, tricks and business cards and not having to explain to one single person what the hell a blog is (and won't bat an eyelid when I pull out my phone to tweet) fills me with so much excitement that I’m already hyperventilating at the thought. I hope paper bags will be provided for me to breathe in to – they could be car shaped to tie in with the Volkswagen Malaysia event sponsorship.

2. I will look cool by association as I plan to get my photo taken with every single attendee, even the uber Bloggers! Even though the idea of knowing hardly anyone there scares the crap out of me, I’ve managed to perfect pretending that I’m confident and have it down to a fine art. I will be employing my well-honed skills on the night in question as I schmooze and network my way around to all 500 bloggers. The temptation to wear my sunglasses on the red carpet and pretend I’m a rockstar is strong but the cool factor would be outweighed by the wanker factor so I will resist and instead go for this demure pose for the waiting paparazzi (who I will have hired, obviously).

If only I wasn't so shy

3. The very next day, December 17th, will be my 30th birthday. The big 3-0. If I win tickets to the awards ceremony I fully intend to walk that red carpet and pretend as if the whole shebang has been put on just for me. The room of people I don’t know will all instantly become my nearest and dearest friends, of which I’ll remind them after a few drinks, and we will party on harder than I could at home with my three streamers and two balloons which is all my sadly limited party budget will allow. I realize that attending the awards and having an awesome night may mean I spend my actual 30th birthday either hungover or asleep in a Marriott hotel room but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

I should win, yes? Yes!

FlogYoBlog Friday: The 11/11/11 Edition

Morning, Floggers!

Look at the date!!! It's the 11th of the 11th 2011... 11/11/11. Even in America where they say the date wrong differently, it's still 11/11/11 (or at least it will be tomorrow).

This mean's that it is Remembrance Day in Australia so you should go and donate a gold coin and get a poppy and remember those soldiers, who were just doing their jobs, who have died fighting for us.

It also means that for the rest of the day I will be, rather disrespectfully, be saying the word poppies just like the Wicked Witch of the West. I can't help it.

So while I feel bad about my inappropriate movie quoting, why not have a bit of a Flog?

How to FlogYoBlog

1. Follow Where's My Glow?
2. Bow down at the alter of Mummy Time; Blog-goddess, all round groovy gal and creator of FYBF
3. Grab the FYBF button and post it on your sidebar or in the post you're linking up
4. Link in your favourite/best post from the week (don't just put your homepage URL)
5. Follow at least 1 linkyer/blogger then be nice and spread the comment love

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He Did What!? Wednesday - By Six Degrees of Laura

Burning Love -By Six Degrees of Laura

The start of a new relationship is always exciting. Conversation over flowing, love blossoming,
being set on fire...

What was that you say? FIRE?

Yep.

I used to know this guy, and when we first starting dating, it was wonderful. I love that exhilarating feeling that you get every time 'he' calls. When you hang on every word to try and squeeze as much detail out of him as possible to try and find out everything you possibly can about this hunk of spunk while trying and stay level headed about the whole ordeal.

Whilst my then potential husband had quite a sense of humour, albeit somewhat warped, I was seeing white picket fences and choosing linens and baby names.

Now, a girl has to look her best when playing the dating again, especially when your busy sussing out potential husband material. You know how it goes, spending ages choosing outfits, keeping up with the waxing of even the delicate area's, perfect makeup and even more perfect hair.

On a warm summer's day, this potential husband was using his usual warped humour, but this time he upped his game.

With props.

A lighter none the less.

He was flicking it. No biggy.

He was walking around flicking it. Yeah, no worries.

He flicked it at the back of my head.

Remember the perfectly styled hair I mentioned before? To keep it so perfect requires hair spray. In the case of my hair, LOTS of hair spray.

I heard a 'woof' sound, not like the dog makes, but like a monstrous fire ball makes.

I heard profanity. Lots of it.

I felt the my the back of my head being beaten around a little and a warming sensation.

And I smelt that pungent smell of hair burning.

MY HAIR!!!!!

Once all the flames were extinguished, I headed for the bathroom, slammed the door in the face of the fire bug and used a little profanity of my own ( obviously), and lent over the sink to pull out hand fulls of ash and pins that used to hold hair back. It took a while before they were needed again.

I used to date this guy. And then I married him. I figure, if he's already set me on fire, he can't do much worse! And if I can forgive him for that, it must be love. Plus I have a totally legitimate draw card on any argument. You don't find that often!

We also now have a no lighter policy in our home.

___ . . . ___ . . . ___

Laura, blogs at Six Degrees of Laura, you know, since that's her name. She wouldn't go blogging at Six Degrees of Myfanwy now would she?

She's a Mama to three gorgeous kiddies, wife to a farmer but not a farmer's wife, a lover of chocolate, icecream, fabric, ribbons, sewing and all things crafty.

She's currently trying to quit smoking, which might be a bit tricky considering her car was side swiped yesterday and she was held at GUN POINT! Go send her some words of encouragement on Twitter.

Next week: Get your tutus ready for TutuAmes

Send your S/He Did What!? submission to Glowless@wheresmyglow.com

I Got Flown To Adelaide And All I Got Was This Lousy Ego Boost

I have just got back from a whirlwind trip to Radelaide with my BBFF (Best Bloggy Friend Forever) Georgia from Parental Parody. How whirlwind? Well, I'm glad you asked. From take off to final landing was a mere 30 hours. I was unaware, until that point, how much you can actually fit in to such a short time period, especially when sans-child. The next time you do a 30 hour out of state trip try to do the following:

• Get told off for talking too much during the safety demonstration on the plane. Blame your travel companion's mother who has made you each a "Survival Kit & Barf Bag" containing a mini Jim Beam, a packet of chips, a chocolate bar, a scratchie and the all important paracetamol and Berocca for the morning after!
  
  
• Walk for absolute miles past innumerable number of homeless people, possibly comatose drunks and laneways with the heady aroma of stale urine (in heels!) because the receptionist has given you the wrong directions to the markets that she also forgot to mention aren't actually open on a Sunday. To make up for it, find a great little Chinese restaurant and order some lovely meals and some "Chaaaaar Don Aaaaay" for $4. Please note that drinking of said $4 "Chaaaaar Don Aaaaay" will not make your feet hurt any less.
  
  
• Take an iPad with you, even though you don't have 3G connectivity and use it as a fancy pants note pad. Feel free to shit stir your travel companion who uses ye olde paper and pen to cover the fact that you should really be doing that too but after a $4 "Chaaaaar Don Aaaaay" you can't read your own writing.
• Go to dinner with some lovely Adelaide bloggers Kellie, Tatum, Lauren, Bianca, Fi, Jodie and Alyce. Have your travel companion introduce herself as not only a blogger but your personal assistant in charge of holding hand bags and fending off the paparazzi. That way, when you remind her that she should write about something funny that just happened everyone will think you're getting her to take notes FOR YOU and think you're either slightly cool or a complete bitch.
  
  
• Find a 24hour pancake parlour and go there with said travel companion and brand new friends Tatum and Lauren. Make stupid jokes, come up with fabulous ideas for guest posts, laugh so much you cry, meet an amazing LadyBoy waitress who laughs at your dumb jokes and joins in on your fun all at 10pm in a particularly seedy part of town. Of course the eating of pancakes or waffles is compulsory.
  
  
• Attend an awesome brunch held by Kelloggs who have paid for you to fly all the way over there but don't actually demand you write anything about them in return. Speak about sugar, salt and fibre. Get quoted on twitter as saying "Sugar doesn't make you fat... sitting on your arse and eating shit makes you fat". Be told that your hair looks fabulous and take numerous requests for a vlog on how to achieve your particular look. Feel your head swell with ego but make a mental note to not let it swell too much lest your hair doesn't sit right any more. Say plenty of great-to-meet-you's and lovely-to-see-you-again's to some fantastic women and really, truly mean it.
  
  
• Have a quick look around Rundle Mall so you can pose with the giant balls and the pigs while you wonder if tax money gets spent on public art just so tourists can take compromising photos with each piece. See the world's most amazing busker - a burly bikie playing classical music on the flute - and give him all your coins for being the best walking contradiction you've ever seen.
  
  
• Look down at your enormous, painfully engorged breasts as it comes on the 26th hour away from your breastfeeding toddler. Marvel that while your rack looks completely amazing, you would do almost anything to relieve the pressure and consider hand expressing in a Maccas toilet.
• Arrive home to a gorgeous husband and child, your parents and your sister who have all chipped in to help you have an amazing 30 hours free of your usual responsibilities. Thank them and tell them about your trip while you shove your child, who seems to have forgotten you but not your ability to produce milk, to your breasts to relieve the discomfort. Wait til they all leave or go to sleep before you break out the Haigh's chocolate and enjoy it while you think about what a kick ass trip you just had and that you feel like a total rock star. 

And if you're wondering what spending 30 straight hours with me is like... this is what Georgia looked like as the plane landed:

Get me away from this crazy Glow!

FlogYoBlog Friday: The Radelaide Edition

Hey Floggers,

I'm off to Adelaide this weekend... or, as I like to call it, Radelaide. Why? Well, just because it sounds cool. There's no cool way to say Perth so I'm a bit jealous, really.

I've been to Adelaide once before, when I was 15, and I can sum up what I know about Adelaide in five points:

• Giant balls in the mall
• City of Churches
• Once lived in by Ben Folds
• The suburb name Glenelg, spelled backwards, is Glenelg
• There are two football teams

What more do I need to know? Nothing! I'm set! But before I go, let's Flog!

How to FlogYoBlog

1. Follow Where's My Glow?
2. Bow down at the alter of Mummy Time; Blog-goddess, all round groovy gal and creator of FYBF
3. Grab the FYBF button and post it on your sidebar or in the post you're linking up
4. Link in your favourite/best post from the week (don't just put your homepage URL)
5. Follow at least 1 linkyer/blogger then be nice and spread the comment love

get the InLinkz code

10 Reasons Why I Don't Comment On Your Blog

Wow. You folk sure do like a ranty, cranky pants post! The comments on Why I Don't Read Your Blog were amazing!

Speaking of comments, everyone loves them. They are a blogger's crack, their life force, the cream in their coffee and however else you care to describe it. There isn't a week that goes by without hearing someone complain about the lack of them in an effort to get more. If only getting more money was as easy as complaining about it.

So, without further ado, I bring you the next, highly anticipated  installment of Why I Don't with an added original, personalized button featuring a particularly nice male bottom, which may or may not belong to Map Guy, wearing a pair of very un-cranky pants in a lame attempt at irony (who could be cranky in licorice all sorts undies?). Please note some of these points fall in to the "it's not you, it's me" category... but most don't.

Why I Don't Comment On Your Blog

1. Everyone else has already said everything worthwhile, or said what I'd like to say but in such an amazing, well written, poetic way, that writing "You're so funny" / "Hope you feel better" / "Thinking of you" just makes me look kinda sad and pathetic.

2. I feel like a douche saying (((hugs))) and everyone else already said onomatopoeia. If I can't add something of value to a conversation I often don't.

3. You fall in to three or more of the categories from Why I Don't Read Your Blog... if I'm not reading, well it's just natural to assume that is why I don't comment, yes? However feel free to think it's another one of the nine reasons, whatever makes you feel better.

4. I'm on my iPad and two finger typing really shits me. Considering I read 90% of blogs when I'm in bed this is why my comments have dropped off dramatically lately, it's such a first world problem. Your post has to be amazing for me to stab out a comment that I can't arrow back through (WTF Apple? An arrow key would be nice next time!) if I've made a mistake.

5. Your post is of the whiney, attention seeking variety. We ALL write emo posts, and that's just fine and dandy. Sometimes we need to get things off our chest to process them and writing them out to the blogosphere is the only way we can do it. But if most of your posts are obviously of a 'pity me', 'nobody likes me so I'm going to stop blogging' or passive aggressive nature with the underlying intention to see how many people will comment... nup. Get over yourself or see a therapist to find out ways to build your self esteem.

6. Your comment box has a captcha. Is that an I or an l? A particularly warped C or an E? I cannot read those curly bastards and if it takes more than two tries to get it to go through then I just give up.  Spam filters take up most of the crap anyway, you don't NEED captchas. Most captcha comment boxes also require at least three different clicks of the 'publish comment' button - I was sure the first time I pressed it, don't make me do it more.

7. Your "click to comment" button is at the top of your post. Now I'm not sure how you read, but I tend to go from top to bottom... If I can't see where to comment immediately then you have to have written something earth shattering to get my comment. I'm time poor and lazy, basically. Also if your comment button doesn't have the word comment in it, how am I meant to know where the hell to click???

8. You have comment moderation on. What are other people saying about this post? Comments are about conversation not just with you, but with others too and I'd like to know without having to check back three days later to see what you've approved. If you've got moderation on it's like it is just you and I talking and really, that is what the phone is for, it's the anti-blog.

9. I am so incensed by your idiotic, misinformed post full of "facts" that you grabbed from the latest current affairs show that a novel length rant about how much of a narrow minded imbecile you are would be the only appropriate response. Since I don't have the time nor inclination to write something that long or directly offensive, I instead quickly introduce my forehead to my desk and click away.

10. You have right-click disabled on your blog which means if I make a typo I can't go back and fix it unless I delete my way back (and no, I can't just let it slide, I will definitely not let a comment go up with a known typo). If the error is at the beginning there is Buckley's chance I will delete it all and start again or copy and paste it in to word and then back. Too. Much. Effort.

Why don't you comment?

P.S. So many of you are going to say Disqus and that's cool. Say it. People hate it but I like it so it will stay, so you can stop yelling at me about it now and please stop sending me passive aggressive emails saying you're unfollowing when you could just not comment like 99% of readers. However feel free to keep hating it, last time I checked I wasn't holding a gun to your head forcing you to use it.

He Did What!? Wednesday - By Mother Moments

Do you see the light? -By Mother Moments

My husband, Thunder Maker, has a lot of moments that make me think “You did what?!” The one that immediately springs to mind though is the time he couldn’t change a light bulb. It happened about 8 years ago and I am still giving him shit about it. Not only that, but the guys I work with all give him shit about it too.

I am a lot more technically minded than Thunder Maker. That happens when I’m an electronics technician by trade. It means that handyman-type jobs around the house usually fall to me to sort out. Most of the time that’s cool, but I happen to be quite short and Thunder Maker happens to be quite tall, so I have to ask him to change light bulbs for me if they are in a funny spot where I can’t use a chair ladder.

A few months after I moved in with Thunder Maker, the light bulb in our bedroom blew. No big deal, I can change that. Except that the light fitting was right over the top of our bed and even standing on a phone book, I couldn’t quite reach the light fitting.

I asked Thunder Maker to change the light bulb over for me and in typical Thunder Maker fashion, he neglected to get around to it for a few weeks. In the meantime I was stubbing my toes on various items of furniture in my quests to get to the bedside table lamp.

Eventually I had had a gut full and insisted that Thunder Maker change the bulb for me right there and then. Ten minutes later he came out to me rather sheepishly and told me that he couldn’t get the bulb out. The conversation went something like this:

TM: “I can’t get the bulb out.”

Me: “What do you mean you can’t get the bulb out?”

TM: “It won’t come out.”

Me: “Well, it went in there in the first place, it has to come out.”

TM: “I’ve been trying for ten minutes and it won’t come out. The fitting keeps spinning around.”

Me: “What do you mean the fitting keeps spinning around? Let me come and have a look.”

At this point I go into the bedroom and watch Thunder Maker attempt to remove the light bulb.

TM: “See, I can’t get it out. The fitting keeps spinning around.”

Me: “That would be because it is a bayonet light fitting and you are trying to screw it out.”

I then had to explain how he needed to push in first, then twist to get the bulb out. I’ve never let him live it down. On the plus side, Thunder Maker now knows how to change a bayonet light fitting.

___ . . . ___ . . . ___

Sidetracked is the gal behind Mother Moments. She's a fabulous 20-something living in Victoria with her husband and two children, known affectionately as Seagull and Wombat.

She's just finished her first year at university and is looking forward to some time off study over the holidays.

If you've ever had a "mother moment" then you should go check her out.

You can check out her Facebook page and have a chat to her on Twitter.

Next week: A Symbol of Fire

Send your S/He Did What!? submission to Glowless@wheresmyglow.com