My Blog and Me.

I have always thought of myself as a little creative. I took Art at High School. Although I sucked at it. By far my greatest ability at school was to write. That and later, at uni - to drink myself into a stupor with $3.00 Bacardi Lemon Limes at the Uni Tavern. I took English Literature in my upper school years and loved it. It was the only class that didn't make my eyes droopy with excessive boredom. I studied it for my TEE (as it was back in the day in Perth). I think it was my highest grade. I only got a B. But I loved it.

I started this blog in September 2009 when I had two todders and little Tilly was all but a twinkle in our eyes. It came about when I reconnected with an old friend. I hadn't spoken to him for a long time. I wrote the biggest email you had ever seen. I just had so much to say. It was about 5 pages long. The emails came back and forth and I wrote page upon page upon page. I am not sure whether he enjoyed ALL THAT. He most probably thought I was a looney mum bored out of her brain (which was perhaps not far from the truth), but what I can tell you was that I found what had been missing. An outlet for my creativity. Which I was craving.

I would update my Facebook status multiple times a day. But it wasn't giving me what I needed. What is it that is missing? I wanted to say more. I am a compulsive over-communicator

I had read MamaMia for a long time and knew I wanted to express myself in a similar way. I started reading other blogs and knew I must do it too.

I am not a good writer. I just love to write. I don't blog to make money. I don't want to write a book. I know this blog will never make me rich. It will most certainly not make me famous.

Now as a seasoned blogger I am happy to admit that I lurve reading other blogs. You can delve into peoples lives. They have made me laugh and made me cry. More crying it would seem lately though. I would love to read every single blog on planet earth but even if I had 5 lifetimes to do it in, it still wouldn't be enough. Blogging is like the mail, it just keeps COMING and COMING and it never stops. At some point you just have to make peace that you can only handle what you can handle.

This blog is just for me to write. And write the best that I can and hopefully get better at it. Because practice makes perfect? I have also make some lovely friends in the process. No doubt all my ramblings are something my children can read when they are older, to get a true understanding of me, their mother. Not that daggy person they will soon think I am. It lets me take the piss out of myself. And everyone else. To optimise what can sometimes be a mundane mum existance.

Who needs drugs and booze and all that when you have the "Publish Post" button. Now that is exhilarating. Or maybe I'm just an idiot.

And that my friends, is all.

The Bold and the Beautiful. Some Things Just Stay The Same

In my chaotic Stay-At-Home-Motherhood-Life with 3 kids not yet of school age, there is one rock in my life that never changes. It always stays the same. It is unfailing stable in my world when other things are falling apart.

The Bold and the Beautiful.

I'm not one of those Mums that engages in a lot of daily dreadful TV watching. Gawd. No. I have no time for that. But everytime I do pop the TV on in the late afternoon in preparation for the news, my old buddie old pal appears right before my eyes as it has done for most part of my life.

The Bold and the Beautiful or as my daughter likes to call it "The Kissing Show".

Because I kid you not there is guaranteed to be some porno kissing action in each episode. It is a prerequisite for each show. I am sure the Director gives each show's script the once over to ensure the compulsory kissing sequence has been written, before he engages in it's production. I write that with certainty.

What I like about it is that, essentially, today's storyline is exactly the same as the one shown in 1998. Same as the one in 1988. It's like a wheel on a bicycle. The same stories get recycled around and around and around and around we go. Which is great if you haven't seen the show in 10 years. You just pick right up where you left off.

And in this crazy topsy turvy world that is always changing and bringing new challenges for the rest of us, there are a few things you can count on when it comes to this show:

* Somebody wants Stephanie (Ridge's Mum, the old lady) to have an accident and die a terrible, horrible, painful death. Her character is also always plotting against somebody. Normally this is the lady who has made a move, or intends to make a move for her ex husband.

* Ronn Moss (yes two N's how intriguing) the person who plays Ridge will over act and no one seems to mind.

* Taylor's face will look like an overblown balloon, her worst enemy being sharp pointy objects which has the potential to blow that thing up off into outerspace.

* Brooke, by contrast is aging somewhat more gracefully. If she has had work done, then you cannot tell and that is the way it should be.

* Brooke and Taylor will be fighting over the affections of the same man. And this man is always Ridge Forrester.

*The character that was a newborn baby in 2006 has grown into a beautiful young lady in her early twenties all in the matter of 4 years.

*Everyone has perfect teeth. Wear your shades if you don't want that blindness to be permanent.

*Someone is scheming, planning, plotting against someone else all in the name of revenge.

*There is yet another formation of an incestuous relationship between 2 of the characters, making the storyline even harder to follow.

*Somebody that had passed away is now back in the land of the living.

It's predictability is comforting. No?

Grab My Button. Go On. I Asked Nicely

I have gotten all Fancy Pants here and I now have a This is Taryn blog button. Like Wowsers. You can pop it into your blog. If you like.

I tried making it myself on the weekend. After Googling "Make Blog Button Blogger" 150 times I messed around with Paint (yes I know how LAME) for 5 hours to try and make one myself.

Finally I came to my senses and enlisted Sass of Blogs by Sass and she did it for me. She has great prices and is an expert in all things Blog Design. The service is excellent too. She's a cool chick. Pop by and say "Hai".

My button is on the right sidebar. Scroll down and you will see it.

I am doing some renovating here and first up I will be popping all my favourite blog buttons on here as well.

Go on. Do it. x

It's Time For Another Fashion WTF.

I am terribly opinionated about fashion. Because bad fashion is well... bad. I have spoken about my disgust of Jeggings (Lycra Denim) and I have even blogged about my distaste for high pants, especially those of the denim kind worn by a certain lady with the surname of Irwin.

A few very ugly things have crossed my fashion radar, or as I like to call it. My Fadar.


First up we have something very ugly which I first saw way back at the beginning of this summer season. So horrendous is this item of shoe, I found myself compelled to take a photo of it and post it on Facebook. As you do.

At first I had to look away. So horrible the image. Are these sandals or are these boots? Well they look like a bit of both. I like to call them BOOTALS. Or "Boots with Ventilation". They are great if you have really bad ankles and really nice toes and really nice heels. They look like you hollowed out a possom and put your feet through them and cut out holes for your toes and your heels.

On posting this image on Facebook everyone agreed "Horrible Things". "Yes I hate them too". Then my cousin announced. "I have a pair of them". Shit. Hello to Lisa if you are reading this.

Next up we have something I found in the Target catalogue today.

Good Lord.

Here we have a lovely model with some very bad shorts. With an exposed pocket.

AN EXPOSED POCKET. WTF?

Underneath the picture it says "Exposed pocket lining". Righto so that it what that dangly thing is hanging from her shorts.

If I saw this lady and didn't know any better I would tap her on her shoulder and announce "Excuse me lady. I can see your pocket".

Hello!? Isn't the inside bit of the pocket something that should not be visible from the outside? It should serve it's purpose and be undetectable. What happens when you fill this pocket with stuff? It's going to bulge out below the short hem. And that's just a bit yuck.

Are we so out of fashion ideas that we must make, sell and purchase shorts with an exposed pocket? What next? Clothing with the lining on the outside? Jackets with pockets pulled out like teepees? Shoes with soles on the upside? Knickers with the bum bit at the front? Bras with an underwire that pokes through your t-shirt?

I'm sorry. Is it just me or all this bordering insanity? What do you think?

Disclaimer - If you are one of these people that has one or both of these items in your wardrobe I do apologise if you have been offended.

Attention Mums to be. Forget Miranda. Here is your impending reality

If you didn't have your head stuck in a dishwasher all week you would have seen the pic of Miranda Kerr's baby. Here it is if you are one of these people. Republished here. Without permission (of course). I messed around with the size of the photo to make her look a bit fat.

Awww. What a lovely photo. Miranda is fresh faced with a dreamy expression. She looks positively gorgeous. What a bitch.

I am not going to enter into a debate about this photo because it has already run it's course. What I will say is that I am disappointed that we don't get to see what would probably be the best looking baby in the whole world. I don't want to see you, Miranda. We already know what you look like. Bloody fabulous of course. I just would like to see the baby.

My other concern is this. New mothers are already subjected to the whole population of Hollywood returning to a size 0, 8 hours after giving birth. Real mummas become puzzled as to why their post baby tummy has to be tucked into their undies. Now celebs are posting these dreamy images of themselves in beautiful robes in post-natal bliss with picture perfect looks on their faces? It's enough to make you just want to have a baby. Just to look like this.

Well let me tell you impending mummas. This is what motherhood looks like.

This is me and my baby. She is a good baby. But she cries. Because she is a baby. And that is me. Passed out. Definitely without make up. Yes with spew. Possibly with the mornings breakfast still on my face.

This my ladies, is reality.

I have a smug look on my face because I just dreamt that we had an endless supply of cash and we hired a nanny and a butler to assist with the household duties. Dream on.

At least you can my babies face.

Gluten Free Orange Cake

This is my most favourite cake in the whole world. A lot of Gluten Free Orange cakes require you, the poor bastard - to simmer oranges for 500 hours. Ok maybe 1 hour. No thanks. If I did that I would forget about it and it would end badly with me mopping the sticky orange mess off the bloody floor.

Of course if you like your baked goods WITH the gluten just use regular wheat flour instead of the rice flour.

Here is my recipe.

185g butter
1 tablespoon finely grated orange rind
1 cup caster sugar
6 eggs
3 cups almond meal
3/4 cup desiccated coconute
3/4 cup of rice flour or gluten free plain flour mix
1 teaspoon baking powder

Orange Syrup
1 large orange
1/3 cup caster sugar
1/3 cup water



Grease cake pan. Beat butter, rind and sugar in medium bowl with electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating until just combined between additions. This mixture will curdle - don't be alarmed.

Stir in the almond meal, coconut and sifted flour and baking powder. Spread cake mix into prepared pan. Bake in moderate oven for about 1 hour. Stand in pan for 5 minutes and turn onto wire rack over tray. Pour hot orange syrup over hot cake. Serve warm or cold.

Orange Syrup
Using a vegetable peeler, peel rind thinly from orange. Cut rind into thin strips. Squeeze juice from orange into small saucepan. Stir in rind, sugar and water. Stir over heat, without boiling, until sugar dissolves. Simmer, uncovered without stirring for 5 minutes.

Supermarkets. Ugggh. Chapter ONE

This is the first installment of a series of posts entitled "SUPERMARKETS. UGGGH". My relationship with supermarkets is a complex one and will need to be covered in a series of posts rather than boring you with one very large post indeed.

I godamn hate supermarkets. One in particular. The one I shop at.

There is just something about them. There is an aura of hate and regret and boredom and hostility that hovers around them. Customers are swept up in these feelings as they browse the shelves for things they need which are always out of stock. The staff harbour these feelings also but to a higher degree. They try to hide these feelings. But we all know they are there. They want to be somewhere else. It seeps out of their pores. They don't want to work here. And the customers. Well. They do not want to be here either. But we all have to be here. The staff need employment to survive and alas, we need food. So we can eat to avoid starvation and withering into nothingness.

I worked for a supermarket for the entire duration of my working life before kids. I worked for THEM for 15 years. A LONG TIME. I won't name the company. Don't fancy being contacted by any lawyers requesting me to take down this post. I started when I was 14. At first as a check out chick. Then a person who coordinates the advertising. And then in a la -de-da fancy job as an Account Executive. That titles always puzzled me. Because I never actually executized any accounts as far as I am aware. I took orders for certain corporate stuff and placed them and then listened to the whinging and copped all the shit when they didn't arrived on time. It was monotonous and boring and didn't challenge me one bit but it paid well so I stayed. I usually had finished all my work before 10am which left the rest of the day to email friends and look at the pile of paperwork that needed filing which I had named "The Mountain of Hell". I avoided it until it fell over itself and then onto the floor. Then I just couldn't ignore it anymore. I was WALKING ON IT and something had to be done. I had to file it. Hello to my old bosses if you are reading this.

When I fell pregnant with my first child I was so excited to be taking maternity leave and take a break from that job. I took maternity leave with the view to NEVER RETURN AGAIN. That part of my life I decided, was over. No more. There was also the very slim chance that they might offer me to take a redundancy while I was on maternity leave. So I didn't come out and quit. I waited.

And waited. And waited with hope.

Then the phone rang. "Please come into the office and sign the redundancy papers". I was getting my redundancy. One of the single best phone calls of my life taken while my baby screamed in the background. I took that phone call in the closet. It was the only way I could hear what my boss was saying on the other end. I pocketed some cash. We finished off the extension to our home and that was that.

We parted on good terms. Me with my bucket full of cash (not a big bucket. More an icecream container) and I am sure they were happy to see the back of me.

And that's how it all began.

The Car Stereo. Untouched Paradise.

When I became a Mum so much changed. Children swallow everything up.

My spacious home became a very well merchandised Toy Shop.

Our money goes on feeding the children. Clothing the children. Buying them cots, beds, prams, high chairs, car seats and sippy cups (which are fecking expensive for a bit of plastic if you ask me. Are there small grains of undetectable gold in there somewhere?)

Our leisure time moved from sipping Strawberry Daquiri's in exclusive Perth restaurants, to cleaning spew, wiping arses and reading every childrens book ever created.

This is a post about one aspect of my life I will not allow small people to snap up.

The Holy Grail. The Car Radio.

The car is my sanctuary. If I am driving, it is my music you are listening to. It is my temple. It is a way to unwind. To listen to great music. To sing loudly very badly.

On chatting to a few mums recently I was super surprised to find that their car CD players are regularly hi-jacked with plethora of childrens music. The Wiggles, Hi-5. Nursery Rhymes. Enough kids music in there to drive to Dorothy the Dinosaur's House.

Stuff that. We do everything for our children and I WILL NOT SUCCUMB TO THESE LEVELS.

I think we are forgetting that the car stereo volume can be controlled. Hello! If you turn the radio up you can't hear the children slapping each other silly and attemping a World Wresting Win. Let's not forget the whinging. It works for that too. Problem solved. So if you are going to turn the music up loud to drown out the noise you might as well be listening to what YOU want to groove to. Right. Right?

Turned up volume drowns out the kids and the music playing is mine to enjoy. It's soooooo underated. So lets shove that kids music in the junk drawer and rejoice in music of your choice.

Go on. You deserve it!