7 things I hated about being a Beauty Therapist

Image adapted from Sérgio (Savaman) Savarese via Wikimedia Commons

I was a beauty therapist and makeup artist in my time PT (pre-Tricky). After studying feminism at uni the decision to become someone who faffs about with skincare and makeup raised a few soon to be perfectly coiffed eyebrows.

Despite my lecturers almost having heart attacks on my transition to the beauty world, I never saw what I did as anti-feminist. Every day in my job I made women feel better about the skin they were in. I might not have agreed with everything they chose to do, but telling them they can't wax off every single hair on their whole body because I thought it made them look prepubescent isn't very feminist either. Each to their own and all that jazz. Or all that vajazzle as the case may be.

Making women feel beautiful was actually pretty awesome. I was good at eyebrow shaping and given virgin eyebrows could make you look like you'd had an eye lift with a bit of wax and some perfectly aligned tweezers. I was also good at speedy brazillians but that's a different and rather more painful story.

There were definitely downsides to the job though:

1. Forgetting client names/faces. If you spend 90% of the time with your client looking at their vag, it's bound to happen. I'd usher them in to the room, wracking my brain about who it was, come back, remove the towel and BINGO... "So, Janet, how'd your date with Stewart go?". I never forget a vagina.
2. Whiffy clients. Ladies, please, if you've been at work all day and popped in for a quick wax on the way home, you're not at your freshest. It's not hard to use the freshening wipes provided. You're paying for them after all.
3. Manky clients. Completely different to the whiffy clients because these ones just filthy all over. I once had a young girl come in for a massage and the grime around her neck made me want to puke. When she piped up with "if you see any ticks just flick them off, I've just come back from camping", a little bit of my soul died.
4. Cranky latecomers. I get it, shit happens and you're late. But when you arrive 20 minutes late for a 30 minute appointment then yell at me when I tell you we have to downgrade your treatment? Then I get shitty and the urge to not be so gentle with the wax on your labia. Seriously gals, don't piss off your waxer.
5. Unrealistic expectations. Having a client request a makeup style that you know will look horrible and despite trying to persuade them they'll look shit unless you tone it down, they are adamant they want the catwalk look. So you do it... and they hate it... and you have to take it off and re-do it all, putting you behind schedule. The urge to scream "I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO" is rather strong.
6. Feet. Having to touch someone's feet when you have podophobia brings on cold sweats and panic attacks. I went to therapy to help with my issues and I could focus and get through it but I would have to disinfect my hands afterwards. With bleach. I once did a pedicure on a woman who only had nine toes as a result of an "accident" involving her brother and a sharp axe.
7. Assumptions. People generally assumed that I was a Beauty Therapist because I was too stupid to do anything else. They always I assumed I was a high school drop out. I was a uni drop out, GET IT RIGHT! It was with these folk that I'd always use the big words and I'll never forgetting pulling the dihydrogen monoxide joke on one of those bitches clients.

So there you have it. There were more positives than negatives and a lot of that was to do with the girls I worked with who made it fun. I even liked them enough to invite them to my extremely-awesome-but-strictly-budgeted wedding, so that's saying something.

On a side note, if you have a weak constitution, turn on SafeSearch when you *ahem* search for images of a facial.

What do you hate about your job?

I Heart My Body 2012

This is my third year participating in We Heart Life's I Heart My Body campaign.

The first time, with a headless, outdated preggo belly shot, and the second time completely starkers with a strategically placed toddler covering my nudie bits. I felt amazingly empowered after participating the last two times so I just had to do it again.

A month ago I started to take care of myself (took my time, right?). I've been eating better and have even been attempting to push through the whole boring chronic pain thing to walk places. Granted it is at such a slow pace that Mavis and Gladys overtake me on their Zimmer frames and any cardiovascular benefits are moot, but that's completely beside the point. The point is I'm trying (I'm very trying). And it's working. I feel better.

This week I had a little heath scare. It's more "annoying and expensive" than "life and death". Almost a year to the day when I asked if it would take such a thing for me to start looking after myself. So, yeah. Fabulous timing, body, thanks for that. But I'm using it as motivation to keep going with what I've been doing and not lose sight of why I'm doing it... because I want my body to be healthy. Because we all realize relying on my mind to be healthy is just not feasible.

So do I love my body? Yeah, sometimes. When I put in effort, stand up tall, smile and really pay attention to the things that matter. It's put up with a lot over the years and ideally I'd like it to put up with a bit more in the future. So I have to love it. It's the only one I've got:

I know what you're thinking: does this woman ever wear clothes? Take me to the pool and I'm covered up, stick me on the Interwebz and I'm an exhibitionist. Sans toddler this time because it was well after his bedtime when I shoved a camera in to Map Guy's hands and asked him to take this. Plus wearing toddlers as a nudie-bit coverer is sooo 2011.

The three things I love about my body:

1. My breasts. Yep, on the list for three years running, these boozies deserve a medal. They're slightly smaller this year thankfully, and can now fit in to regular bras from regular shops. Sometimes. They're also still producing milk for the Trickster.
2. My eyebrows. They might be uneven thanks to some over zealous waxing in my younger years, but they're pretty good at not being a monobrow or looking like two caterpillars stuck to my head. I've also recently managed to lift only one eyebrow so I can give the perfect "WTF?!" look. That in itself makes them worthy of a spot on this list.
3. My tattoos. They totally count as a part of my body since they are there forever (or until expensive laser removal). I am still insanely in love with the tattoo on my arm. After wanting it for years and years I'm surprised that I sometimes forget its even there. Then I'll catch a glimpse of it in the mirror when I'm brushing my teeth and I can't help but smile.

Do you heart your body?

TrackMaster Tricky

This post is sponsored by Nuffnang

If you’ve been playing along at home you’d know that the Trickster is obsessed with trains and we even designed our family holiday around visiting as many train-related places as possible. His beloved “toot toots” are his favourite toys.

Recently he was sent a TrackMaster Risky Rails Bridge Drop Playset to try out and practically started hyperventilating as soon as the wrapping was off. “TOOT TOOT, MA! TOOT TOOT!”



I wasn’t particularly good at building the set despite following the instructions and completely blame the enthusiastic and impatient toddler trying to help by shoving pieces in my face. The fact that Map Guy re-built it the next day in half the time it took me means nothing. NOTHING!



The only thing Tricky didn’t like about the set? The poor little dude got worried about the trains being hurt on the Bridge Drop. Is that not the cutest thing ever? He loves them so much, he thinks they’re real and kept telling me that the train was scared. So we stuck to the lower track for a while until he was brave enough to let them up the top, albeit with their wheels turn off so he could control the speed. Nawwww.

Our night time routine is a bit different now because the kid is adamant he doesn’t want to go to bed without Thomas. Every bed time now it’s “I play t'ains, mama” to the point where we’ve had to instigate a no-tracks-in-the-bedroom policy. Doesn’t mean he can’t clutch on to Thomas all night though.

I considered taking a photo when I found him at 4:30am in the lounge room, light on, playing trains a few days after the set arrived. But I was zombie-esque and also didn’t think it appropriate to capture my parenting fail - I have no idea how long he’d been there for while the rest of the house slept soundly. Oops.

To get in on the Thomas TrackMaster action create the fastest, scariest, most awesome ultimate TrackMaster track, film it and upload it to the competition page www.ultimatetrackmaster.com.

There are six weekly prizes up for grabs over 10 weeks! Each week:

1. Five entries will win a TrackMaster Risky Rails Bridge Drop Playset (the one Tricky has) and one TrackMaster Little Friends Engine.

2. One voter will win a TrackMaster Risky Rails Bridge Drop Playset and one Thomas& Friends Blue Mountain Mystery DVD.

Then comes the big kahuna prize at the end of the competition that I’m pretty sure would be Tricky’s dream come true: The entry with the most votes will win the major prize consisting of Thomas & Friends merchandise and a Puffing Billy Day out with Thomas in Victoria, Australia, including a private tuition on how to drive Thomas, valued at $8000!

So get tootin’ now!

Are you the Ultimate TrackMaster in your house?

The Cleaning Fairy

This is sponsored post for Fairy

Every so often, in a wave of laziness luteinizing hormone, I crack the shits and refuse to clean. The dishes pile up in the sink, the rim around the bath tub intensifies and the pile of dirty nappies grows so large it has its own postcode.

Within a day I realize that I have no clean plates for the next meal, I can’t take a relaxing soak in a filthy tub and the child is walking around bare-assed. I reluctantly pull myself out of the rut in the sad knowledge that I am the Cleaning Fairy in this house. I don’t have wings or halo, but I do have a scowl and a pimple. In fact I’m more Dish Witch than Cleaning Fairy.

You can have a Cleaning Fairy in your house though. Sadly, as much as I know it disappoints you, it won’t be me dressed as a fairy, but rather, a bottle Fairy Dishwashing Liquid. OK, so it won’t wash nappies or put away the laundy, but hey, for a little green bottle without wings or a halo (unless you photoshop it in like I did - ooh lense flare!), it does an ace job and lasts 50% longer than the other top brands, but don't take my word for it...

The folk at Fairy decided to really put it to the test and find out if they could wash an entire town’s plates using just one bottle of the sudsy stuff. They got celebrity chef Ben O’Donoghue to cook an amazing three course meal at a long lunch and then got a whole stack of Cleaning Fairies to wash all the dishes using just one bottle of Fairy.

They chose Margaret River for the deed. It’s a pretty quiet, sleepy place and it’s known for its wine, food, wine, surf and did I mention wine? Well, that is until its schoolies week and the population explodes and it’s known for its alco-pop seeking teens. But generally speaking, there’s a population of 9000 people and everywhere you turn you feel like you’re in a postcard or an ad for Greenpeace.

So, did they succeed? Did they manage to wash all the town's dishes from one bottle of fairies Fairy? Or did they just end up with a town full of dish-pan hands? You’ll have to have a look and find out:


Please tell me I’m not the only one who thought that would have little fairies popping out of the bottle and doing the cleaning? I even envisaged squeegee-topped wands flying over the plates and getting them clean. I’ve put way too much thought in to this, haven’t I?

I’m not jealous at all, but Ben, if you’re reading this, next time, feel free to drop around and recreate the experiment here, albeit on a slightly smaller scale. I’ve got some lovely new pots and pans you can play with and I’ll even volunteer to be Cleaning Fairy. Hell, I’ll even put on some fairy wings.

Are you the Cleaning Fairy in your house?

You can call me Captain Glow

Earlier this month I was up super early on my sleep in day yet again for another RedBalloon experience. I have an uncanny knack for scheduling them poorly it would seem.

Map Guy, Tricky and I rocked up at Jandakot Airport after a forty minute car trip filled with “I see p’anes? I see p’anes now, Ma?”, ready for me to get airborne. Turns out I wasn’t the only one looking forward to it.

And then I saw it. Oh gawd, what the fuck have I done?

It was an impossibly small Cessna aircraft and I was mean to not only fly in it but take over the controls of for my first flying lesson. Suddenly I wasn’t so excited any more. Instead I was wondering how it is even possible for something like that to fly and also, how the hell was my ass going to fit in it? I believe shitting bricks is the appropriate expression.

My pilot, Greg, was awesome though and allayed my fears. He’s had blokes weighing almost twice as much as me and is not too fussed by being sandwiched next to his students. I do believe he was a sardine in a former life.

We went through the pre-flight checks and I learnt all about Romeo Whiskey Quebec, including how to manually check how full the tanks are, how to see if the fuel is clean and how to trip over the wheel chock. At that point I wished I was with Romeo, drinking Whiskey in Quebec and not about to get in a flying tin can.

We put on our required flight wear – headsets and sunglasses. But not aviators, Greg and I agreed aviators just make you look like a wanker. Then we both channeled contortionists and folded ourselves in to the cockpit at which point I said a silent prayer of thanks to whomever it was that invented deodorant.

Squished in

I asked if I had to turn off my phone or if I could put it to flight mode so that I could take photos. He laughed. No fancy pants electronics to interfere with in this thing, it's all manual, baby! So, just because I could, I put a photo of me in the cockpit on Instagram while we were taxiing to the runway.

You can call me Captain Glow

The wind started to get really blustery as we waited for our turn on the runway and he asked if I usually got motion sickness. Ummmm yeah, about that... I’m the girl who used to throw up every single time a plane would land. Without fail. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I managed to create my own almost foolproof strategy of focusing intently on the fasten seatbelt sign and deep breathing. But even then I’d still feel like death. I’ve even been seasick on a cruise ship. A cruise ship with 12 decks that no one else could feel moving.

He handed me some ‘Sic Sacs’ and I stuffed them in bra. What? There's no seat pocket in front ya know!  Remind me again why I decided to do this? That's right, to prove I could.

Things got serious after that because I was in charge of the throttle for takeoff. Yes, I know, I freaked out too. It was hard to hear Greg over the over the roar of the engine, and I was petrified I was going to do something wrong so I pushed it in really slowly.

At this point he asked me to do it faster since we were going to run out of runway if we kept going at 20km/h. I pushed it in and we lifted up in to the air. I can only assume I did it right because no alarms went off and we didn't crash.

It felt bloody amazing. I was flying!

Heading for the coast

We got up to 15,000 feet and the controls were handed over to me. Despite Greg being right next to me with his own set of controls to grab if I did something wrong, it was at this point I kinda wished I’d worn brown trousers. Light aircraft controls are really touchy. It was sorta like Mario Kart except when you fall from the sky a little dude on a cloud doesn’t pick you back up. I suck at Mario Kart.

The nose dipped a bit before I got used to keeping us level while turning and I felt like my stomach was going to fall out. I flew up the coast and back around for half an hour, though it seemed like five minutes. I didn't see any of the view after we got up high and I was in charge - Godzilla could have been rampaging on the ground and I wouldn't have noticed since I was concentrating so hard on keeping the Cessna steady.

We were only five minutes from landing and I’d almost lined us up to the runway when I was pretty sure I was just about to yack. I had to relinquish the controls to concentrate on my breathing and the fasten seat belt sign. Except there is no freaking fasten seatbelt sign in such a teeny tiny aircraft! GAH!

I looked around and spotted a Tiger Moth stunt plane just in front of us, getting ready to land too. I swear it hadn't been there a second earlier.

My shoulder angel told me to focus on it's bright yellow wings... my shoulder devil started screaming "What the fuck, why are we so close to another plane? WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!". At about that time the angel executed a perfect roundhouse kick and quickly shut that devil up. But needless to say, little planes fly really bloody close to each other.

We followed it down and had the smoothest touch down less than a minute after it landed and I had not been violently ill or responsible for crashing a plane. Winning.

My "hurry up and take the damn photo, I still might hurl" face

Despite almost revisiting my breakfast, I absolutely loved the flight. I love that I can tick it off my bucket list and say I've helped a plane take off, flown out over Fremantle and didn't yack at any point. If I do it again I'll be munching on ginger and anti-nausea tablets and staying up there for longer, maybe even in the Tiger Moth. Then I'd get to wear those goggle thingys, the big jacket and a scarf. Have to have the scarf.

You can fly this baby too. UPSIDE DOWN! Tiger Moth Scenic Flight

It’s just over two months til Christmas and a joy flight would make an ideal Christmas gift (just ask my dad, I got him this exact experience for his 60th!). You can get receive $30 off any RedBalloon experience over $129 by entering the promo code REDMUM05 at the checkout.



Would you fly a sardine can with wings?

Disclosure: Thanks to the team at Digital Parents Collective for inviting me to be a part of the RedBalloon Experience program. I will be sharing my awesome experiences with you over the next 6 months. Stay tuned! As always, all opinions are my own however the experiences are complimentary.

Just fucking do it

I think some of us need a reminder sometimes. I know I do.

Kim from Frog Ponds Rock said those words to me recently and I thought "Ima put that shit on a poster and put it as my wallpaper". I can always count on her to say something that makes me wanna fist pump.

It goes for everything. Whether it's your decision to monetize your blog, to have an elective c-section, to be vegan, to breastfeed your kid until it's seven, to embrace the latest fashion trend, to sing the praises of 50 Shades as a literary masterpiece or to support the world domination of One Direction. 

Say what you mean.

Mean what you say.

Someone is bound to disagree with you and be as emphatically passionate about their beliefs as you are yours.

Speak your truth, hold your head up high and all will be well.

If we all agreed? Fuck, it would be so boring.

An open letter to building companies

Dear Builders,

My husband and I (ooh I sound regal) are looking in to building a home or renovating our current one. We're doing this for a number of reasons:

1. We currently live in an oversized cupboard but with a big enough yard for a Shetland Pony
2. I'd like to have another sprog and don't particularly want to put them in the shed (although I suppose I could get a baby monitor)
3. I'm a whiney middle class white chick who doesn't realize how good she has it (What's that? You want TWO toilets full of clean water to wash your shit away?)

We've been to countless display homes these past few weeks and the vast majority of the time the first words to pop in to my head are not "Oh my, I simply must have this house!" but rather, "What the ever loving fuck?"

Now I'm pretty sure that wasn't what you were aiming for or you would have named your house "The Gob Smacker" not "The Retreat" or whatever you called it that was supposed to convey the idea that I'd be living in a resort despite the fact that I would have to clean it and there is a severe lack of room service.

Most of my problems with your designs are the bathrooms. Do I really need an ensuite which is three times the size of the main bathroom? The ensuite, by rights, is designed for a maximum of two people yet most are rivaling the size of my garage.

Also, I don't know about you, but I'm generally not an exhibitionist (said the girl with a blog). It's blatantly obvious that your designers are though! Do people really want windows from their shower cubicle in to the back yard? Or worse, from the shower cubicle in to the master bedroom? Now I'm as in to getting creative in the bedroom as the next person but my own peep show isn't high on the agenda. A gal needs a little privacy at times.

If possible, can you please push the budget to spare a door for that monstrous ensuite? As well as the whole I'm-not-a-stripper thing and the not wanting to be woken when my husband showers at 6am, I'd like to avoid my clothes becoming mildewy. Since you have to walk through a room-sized wardrobe to get to the shower in most of your designs, that's exactly what is going to happen. Maybe you could take the money you save by removing your "one sink per every person ever born" policy?

While I'm on the subject of doors, toilets need them. They also need to be made of materials that are not translucent. I can get over the fact that my kid walked straight in to the glass door and bumped his noggin, but I can't get over the fact that it's just plain gross and much more suited to a fetish film. Not only do I not want anyone to see me while I'm answering a call of nature, but I most definitely do not want to see anyone else answering said call. I deal with enough shit as it is, you know!

If you could clear up some of these issues and make me a nice, simple home with doors, storage and a bit of space for my kid to run around in without us all tripping over him, it would be much appreciated.

Yours sincerely,

Glow x

Been in to a display home lately? What did you think?

Quickflix review and giveaway

Scroll down to find out how to win one of two subscriptions!

I'm not a big TV watcher. There is hardly anything on when I've got free time that doesn't make me want to poke my eyes out with a sharpened pencil. I've got no interest in seeing how a bunch of teenagers are coping with life in Summer Bay High yet strangely, put them in Shermer High School circa 1985 and I'll replay it so frequently that I know it off by heart. Cult movies are my thing.

Enter Quickflix. The champion of cult movie watchers, insomniacs and mums up feeding in the middle of the night. Oh, and parents who just want a few minutes of peace to drink a cup of tea before it goes cold. Yes, this thing is packed with enough kids programs to guarantee mum gets some much needed alone time.

I've been trialing the Post & Play subscription and I am now addicted. Unlimited entertainment! I think I've watched more TV shows and movies in this past month than I ever have... it's a great help to someone like me who likes to speak only in quotes. Oh come on, you didn't expect me to get it and just leave it for Tricks to play with did you? I take this review thing seriously... for *ahem* your benefit of course.

I decided to get a kids movie from the Post section of the catalogue since, ya know, I was meant to be trialling this as easy unlimited entertainment for kids. I clicked on Beauty and the Beast and the disc was at my doorstep two days later (not bad for cross country!). Ahh that Mrs Potts is a good one, isn't she? Love her.

It was a little bit annoying when trying to watch a TV series via the computer where for a while I could only ever get it to play the first episode. But after asking some questions and getting a very quick answer (clicking on the title, rather than the play button shows you the episode list) I got it to work. PHEW! There are over 12 hours of Thomas the Tank Engine episodes on there and I was starting to panic I'd just have make Tricky watch the one episode over and over again! I predict a Thomas Marathon in Tricky's future, the kid is obsessed with his "Thomas toot toot"!

My favourite thing about Quickflix is that you can have one subscription working on up to five devices simultaneously. By rights you could be watching something on the computer, your partner on the SmartTV, one tween on an Android device, the other on the PS3 and a toddler on the iPad. There will be no more fighting over the remote. Ever.

The app has been the most used feature in this house and came in very handy when Tricks had an asthma flare up and I had to try to keep him from going a million miles an hour and making himself sicker. After two days of crafts he was completely over it and I succumbed to bribery by whipping out Bob the Builder along with promises of his dummy, a PJ day and being able to sleep in the big bed.

Bribery 101

I liked that the parental controls were only changeable from the PC and that you could determine which classifications required a pin number to watch. It mean that if I plonked it on Tricky's lap with a Charlie and Lola cartoon showing, I wouldn't find him 5 minutes later with Charlie and Lola Go Wild 5.

My password was 8008 because it looks like BOOB. I'm so mature.

The app also meant I spent a great chunk of time with the iPad in the bath after Tricky had gone to bed. What? Doesn't everyone use their iPad in the bath? DON'T JUDGE ME!

When Map Guy called out one evening to ask where I was I replied "Watching Miranda in the bath... wait... that sounds really wrong!". It was too late though, he'd already come running to take a squiz.

Other than taking a while to figure out how to play the episodes online and a couple small app glitches where a few times it loaded the movie/episode and wouldn't play (which could have just been my connection), I really enjoyed using Quickflix and being able to keep Tricky entertained, watch cult movies, check out awesome series from HBO and watch Gavin and Stacey in bed. Wait. Now that sounds really wrong.

If you'd like to give Quickflix a whirl to watch Miranda in the bath and Gavin and Stacey in bed, you can get a free six week trial here** or you can enter to win a six month subscription valued at $150!

There are TWO $150 Post & Play subscriptions up for grabs. You can enter via the form below and/or the Facebook app here. Enter daily and share the giveaway for more chances to win.
Are you a movie buff? Tell me your favourite movie of all time!!

This is not a sponsored post. I was given a complimentary subscription to Quickflix. As always, all opinions are honest and my own.
**trial does require a credit card for security reasons, though it won't be debited - it's how I got my trial activated too

Robbed

This is my favourite photograph of my Nanna.

She wasn't one for smiling in photos and for her happiness to be captured on film at my wedding meant so much to me.

We had a memorial slideshow at her funeral today. On Monday I had gone with my Dad and Uncle to the production office to drop off photos to be scanned and received confirmation that yes, my photo had been received via email and would be included.

Today I watched the screen and through my tears I saw my Nanna as a beautiful young bride cutting her wedding cake; as a mother with my Dad in her arms; as a grandmother with a chubby Aunty Penny in her lap; as an old lady with curlers in her hair.

Then it ended. And my photo was nowhere to be seen.

I keep trying to tell myself it's just a photo, but I'm so sad and angry that it was forgotten.

Her time in the nursing home, where Tricky and I would visit her every few weeks or so, has robbed me of my memories. I don't want to remember her like that, I don't want anyone to remember her like that, and yet visions of her wasting away in there are all I can recall right now. Today it's all I see when I close my eyes, as if it's been burned in to the back of my eyelids.

I need to be able to think of her and see this photo, smiling and happy on a special day, not the 26kg shell of a woman she was in her last few days.

As with life, there is no do-over of a funeral. There is no "sorry we fucked up, here's another slideshow". And I feel robbed all over again.

So after being let down by a company that took a sizable chunk of money from my family and didn't deliver, I'll use my crappy little corner of the interwebz to immortalize her. I'm pretty sure it's not in the "How to be a Mummy Blogger handbook" but right now I don't care.

Big walk = big bucks... hopefully

Princess Margaret Hospital for Children means a lot to my family. My sister spent a lot of her life there, I had countless asthma admissions there, and Tricks has had two surgeries, asthma and allergy admissions there. If it wasn't for the fact that it was a public hospital I reckon we'd be getting a bulk discount right about now.

When my friend's boy was diagnosed with cancer this year I felt impotent. The whole wanting to help but not knowing what to do thing is a bitch of a feeling. So, I figured throwing money at the problem might help somewhat. I could have done a naughty cake sale to raise the cashola, but decided that walking 6km would have to do.

It remains to be seen whether I'll be able to walk 6km non stop what with the whole chronic pain thing. But I figure if kids like Adam can put up with chemo then I can pop a couple of painkillers, get off my fat arse and push through the pain. I might end up on the couch for a week but screw it, I'm gonna do it.

I'm also doing another fun run a few weeks later. Because I'm a dickhead. But if someone could loan me a wheelchair for December, that would be ace.

If you feel like helping the sick kids then you can donate here. If you're going to be in Perth on Sunday the 4th of November and feel like joining in on the action (HAH! Action? Please, it's me we're talking about, this will be a casual stroll!) then join the group here - the password to join is Glowglow. There's a few other bloggers/tweeps already involved but we'd love some more - that way I can hide amongst the group so no one sees me hobbling along. 

We'd like to raise $500 (well actually we'd like to raise a shed load more than that, but we're being realistic) and we're almost half way there already.

On the day you can follow my slow deterioration by checking out the #BigWalkBloggers hashag and then join in the linky that will be hosted here after the event.

Will you support us? I will give you endless love and devotion. 

EDIT: If you join the group it doesn't actually let me know your contact details! Please email me glowless@wheresmyglow.com and I will let you know where we're all meeting on the day! It's also not letting me know the contact details of people donating so I'm unable to thank everyone individually. But I can say now, watching the tally go up has me crying happy tears. Thank you so much x

SlackKeeper: The must have app for Slackers

Glow Industries is proud to present the newest and greatest app ever designed to help you faff around and do nothing all day: SlackKeeper^TM

In this increasingly corporate world where hard yakka is, regrettably, rewarded, it's difficult to keep track of your laziness and ensure you spend enough time faffing about on each of your interests rather than doing actual work.

But now, thanks to SlackKeeper^TM, being productive is a thing of the past! SlackKeeper is the perfect app for bludgers who want to keep track of their Slacktivities^TM and simultaneously increase their calorie intake whilst reducing their physical activity.

Left: Keep track of how many packets of chips you're eating and optimize your carb intake per minute with handy, easy to read graphs.

Centre: Using your phone's gyro and GPS features, SlackKeeper^TM alerts you when you have been physically active for more than 10 minutes at a time. Because you don't get to be Slacktastic^TM by exercising!

Right: Optimize your doughnut eating skills by doing the SlackKeeper^TM Doughnut Time Trials - you'll be eating a doughnut a minute in no time!

SlackKeeper^TM has been designed specifically for bludgers who are also social media junkies and love to inundate their friends and followers with pointless updates. Your SlackKeeper^TM account automatically posts your accomplishments directly to your Twitter and Facebook account - you don't have to set it up, because we know you're too much of a slack ass to do it!

Available on both Apple and Android systems for $2.99, SlackKeeper^TM is the most effective app you will ever find to help track, measure and improve your slackness.

At Glow Industries we're so confident you'll be the champion of slacking off after using this app that we're offering a money back guarantee! Use the app for 60 days and if you don't see either a reduction in productivity or a gain in weight in that time, we'll refund your money... if we can be arsed.

Are you gonna get slack with me? If you could create any app what would it be?

The Homecoming

A dramatic scene unfolded at Casa de Glow yesterday afternoon. Like a lot of important events in my life (such as my own engagement) it started with me being woken up from a nap. What? Isn’t everyone woken up from a nap to be proposed to? No? Awkward. Righty-o, moving on.

“Glow, there’s an injured bird in the yard. I need your help so Sprocket doesn’t eat it”

Map Guy produced a big black shoe box and told me the bird was inside. I peeked in. It was so small and fragile. It had long scrawny legs and fluffy grey wings that stood out at awkward angles.

But it wasn't injured, it was just a baby. Something inside me stirred. It was only a bird, sure, but I felt an intense urge to protect it. To make sure it got home safe. Reunited with its family.

We put the dog inside and placed the baby bird on our weedy lawn with a lid of water in front of it and stood back to see if it would try to move. It didn’t.

I thought it might already be too late.

But then it blinked, opened its mouth wide and cheeped.

What we can only assume were the parents started flitting around anxiously watching us. The Google Gods tell me they were White-cheeked Honeyeaters. After a few minutes the mama bird swooped down to feed it. I wanted to take a photo but I didn’t want to go any closer and scare it. Plus I’ve not had much luck with wild animals recently and had visions of the mama bird swooping me and becoming lodged in my eyeball. So I stayed well back.

Image: Ralph Green

She flew off and landed on the fence near her peers, all of them watching closely, never straying far from the baby. My heart broke and I cursed evolution for not giving them arms or hands or an Ergo.

We studied the trees around us and the five or six other identical birds swooping in and out of our neighbour’s tree that overhangs our fence provided a useful clue as to the whereabouts of the nest though we couldn’t actually see through the dense branches.

I ducked inside to call to the vet to find out exactly what we should do while MG kept guard. The receptionist said as long as the parents were still fretting and trying to feed it then we could put it on any branch in the tree and it would be helped back. If they weren’t? Well it was likely the little dude had been pushed and would just be pushed out again. Darwinism at it's finest.

By the time I came back the previously motionless bird had flapped it’s wings and managed to half fly half jump a few metres. A definite improvement on its previous movement record of blinking. We took it as an excellent sign that it was in fact not on death's door.

Map Guy put the bird back in the shoebox, made all the more difficult now that it had decided to attempt this ass-bumping half fly half jump routine and lifted it in to the tree. Then the most amazing thing happened... the whole tree, full of Honeyeaters we hadn't even seen, erupted in tweets.

As in the cheep cheep kind, not the @MamaHoneyeater: “OMG @BabyHoneyeater is being lifted in to the tree by @MapGuy83 while @Glowless looks on holding that kid with the cheeks” kind.

Now it might be my hormones or the fact that my rellies are here from interstate for their own reunion to see their dying mum, my Nanna, but the loud and frenzied cheeping heralding his homecoming pulled at my heartstrings with its unmistakably triumphant chorus. They were overjoyed at the little guy's return and all I could think about was how my Nanna would have felt that same joy in these last few days, seeing her five children at her bedside.

We stood and watched the baby bird hop from branch to branch until he was deep inside the protective arms of the tree. He was home. Safe and sound.

And it was all I could do not to weep.

Postscript: I wrote this at 4pm on the 7th of October and set it to publish for the morning. Just after 9pm my Nanna died after a long illness. I'm sure she chose to go then because she was finally secure in the knowledge that her five children were home. Safe and sound.

SEO tips for lazy bloggers

I've never been one for SEO. I mean, what can I promote to search engines? My whinging about nappies? That I'm one of a gajillion women who blog in Australia? I have no real niche so unless I can work in to a post "stuff SAHMs should read for shits and giggles while their kids sleep", I'll just keep plodding along as usual.

The only thing I do that is in any way SEO friendly is the titles of my permalinks, and that function has only been available for a relatively short time now so half the time I forget to do it.

But because I can see my highest ranking posts and the search terms that found them, I've decided to just include the keywords used in them in as many posts from now on as possible, and I highly recommend you should too. It's an SEO goldmine I'm tellin' ya!

These are some of my top posts of all time and the keywords they are found by:

Cold Power Competition - washing smarter. I shit you not. How on earth people find this blog when searching washing advice I have no idea. They'll be very disappointed, that's for sure.

Mappy Birthday - assless chaps. Yes. Think about what type of reader are you trying to attract. If it's one who likes bums, use assless chaps in a sentence today. Don't delay!

10 Reasons I Don't Read Your Blog - why don't people read my blog. Sadly people are reading this and possibly taking it as gospel when in fact it's just me ranting. 

This One Time I Pissed Myself Laughing - jump run leak wee. So I'm kinda proud of this one, it was my first attempt at SEO and it's actually working. It meant 2000 entries (OMG!) and lots of traffic even after it closed.

50 Shades of Torturous Writing - should I read 50 Shades of Grey. Yeah, the whole world is obsessed with it, no surprises there.

5 Reasons Shark Culls Are Bullshit - shark attack shark culls WA. Every time there is another shark attack, the government bangs on about killing sharks. The last person to be killed was actually a friend of a friend, and I still stand by this.

How To Use Chalk To Colour Your Hair - hair chalking. Yep, the coloured hair craze is still going strong.

So there you go. By my very scientific calculations if you write a post called 50 Shades of hair chalk and shark attacks on men in assless chaps who do the washing, leak wee and don't read my blog you will be hitting the SEO JACKPOT! Prepare for the servers to melt.

Do you optimize your posts with keywords? Or think SEO stands for Sugar Eating Opportunity like me?

No, we are not fucking there yet! Plus giveaway

We all remember Go the fuck to sleep, right? Well there's a new book about to launch that is Bonney Press' (as opposed to Boney M's) take on it, written by Andrew Willis and Robin Swift.

No, we are not fucking there yet and other universal truths of parenting. A poetry and picture book for adults with kids. Not for adults thinking about kids, though, because I'm positive that there would be a mad rush for the tying of tubes and a little snip snip after page one.

As someone who does long road trips with a toddler, this book title speaks to me. It speaks to me in foul language covered up by a little love heart. Because love hearts make swearing like a trooper socially acceptable. Perhaps I should walk around with a love heart on my lips?

It's not all about car trips though, it covers everything from food flinging, being pissed on, eating slugs, trips to the emergency room and, of course, mama's special grape juice, all in rhyming prose. Divine!

I love love love this poem:

On reading it and seeing the picture I'm about to ask for royalties because I'm pretty sure that screaming blond kid with the chubby cheeks is Tricky. You cannot call my kid's bluff. If you wave and say you're leaving, he'll stop his tantrum long enough to wave right on back to you and then keep going. Asshole.

If you'd love to get your hands on this book before it's released (it would  make the perfect evil baby shower gift!) plus a whole swag of other Hinkler/Bonney Press titles to entertain your feral lovely children with while you read and giggle in the corner (including How Do I Love You, 501 Things for the Quick Draw Kid, Ghostly Glow in the Haunted House) valued at over $100, all you have to do is enter through the Facebook App.

What is your universal parenting truth? Mine is: the whiter the clothes, the larger the poo explosion.


Hosted by Three Lil Princesses   This is not a sponsored post. I received a complimentary copy of No, we are not fucking there yet.