If I’ve said it before I’ve said it a thousand times; I am under no illusions about my shortcomings as a human being.
But it’s always easier to make observations about someone else than get introspective, and I’ve met my fair share of observable dickheads.

It would seem entirely spiteful were I to say something like this now, so I recommended a good friend pass the message on to a previously mutual friend.
To be honest, I genuinely don’t mean it out of spite. I no longer harbour ill will, but I’m quick to anger at the mistreatment of people I care about (can I getta amen), and I have much more difficulty shedding those grudges.

Here is a list of aspects of your character that I believe have room for improvement. It is not intended to be hurtful, rather to help you on the road to self improvement. 
-when someone is speaking to you, give them your full attention, particularly when they’ve just done it for you.
-plans are not set in stone, some obligations are more important than coffee, and jobs actually are a valid excuse.
-that being said, have the common courtesy to make things as convenient for the other person as possible. Particularly when they’re your mode of transportation.
-when you give your word, keep it. Trust is difficult to reestablish, and unfortunately, you actually can’t force it.
-getting emotional when something is difficult is not the answer. People may help when you’re upset a couple of times, but when it’s repeated, long term and the subject matter is trivial and easily resolved, you seem immature and unstable.
-giving unsolicited advice is rude and so condescending. Especially when you haven’t actually been listening and have zero authority on the subject.
-it doesn’t have to be on social media to be valid, love is best shared privately and a couple of well timed selfies does not a photographer make.
-practicing what you preach is only ever a good thing. If you’re prone to the desire for retribution, don’t espouse a life of zen and ever loving good naturedness.
-be good to the people who do you favours, because they have memories. And keep score. I promise.
-one good deed does not undo the bad ones; you can’t expect a clean slate without acknowledging when good girls go bad. Which leads me to,
-admit when you’ve made a mistake and apologise. IT MAKES THE WORLD OF DIFFERENCE. Otherwise, you’re essentially trivializing someone else’s pain.
-you are not the centre of ANYONES universe. Until you have children. Okay maybe there’s one more,
-don’t have children. You won’t be able to hack it (unless you take on my wickedly accurate and entirely unpompous tips for life).

Good luck.


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endometriosis, the mirena, and the pollen wars

Indulge me, if you will, in a slight deviation from the norm of shower poop and teething wars.

I’ve had gynaecological issues for years, since it was reasonable to do so, and though this by no means makes me special (plenty of falling-over stories  that do that all on their own), it’s consistent, persistent, painful, difficult, disruptive, and an all round pain in the ass.

A little background – sans gore – to bring you up to speed.
Years of trouble,
2009 laparoscopic surgery for endometrial removal and Mirena IUD insertion.
2012 Mirena removal due to recurrent symptoms
2013 baby leafys triumphant arrival

This year just short of leafs first birthday I finally got in to see a gynaecologist and despite my desire to further investigate the possibility of more endometriosis, she insisted that the Mirena was good. We’d do that.
Three months after we were to make sure it was in situ and if I was still symptomatic after that, we’d revisit the surgical route.

Today after much humming and hawing from an awkward young male sonographer, we can once again surmise that there is some posterial endometriosis, if the Mirena is still intact it’s not visible, and I’m unlikely to get an appointment with a gynaecologist way up here – the far end of the country where brains are impaired by the sun and working days must be accordingly adjusted – for several weeks. 

AND! worse than all that, the pollen dropped off the trees today. So. You know. Gimme all the sniffles. Props for self pity.


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I surpassed my internet quota for the month in two weeks… So this week’s post is late – but no less poignant.

Does it speak of a persons love for another when they’re willing to accept their loves 400% increase in shower poop propensity?
Or is it merely a reflection of one’s lack of regard for the privacy and inadvertent distasteful nature of bodily functions?

My life in a partially digested mandarin and rehydrated sultana nutshell.


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All our stuff came today.
Couch, cot, fridge, bed, desk, files, kitchenware, bike and washing machine (YAY).

I’d sort of resigned myself to the fact that we might not ever see that stuff again, apart from the washing machine which I genuinely love, and it wasn’t a big deal. Apart from the couch and air mattress, though we bought a new bed and old couch to tide us over.

So now that it’s here I’ve just left it all in a pile in the entry way, and I dont really want to do anything with it.
Not having so much stuff has been totally liberating and I’m loathe to give up on the breathing space.

Creature comforts? Or excessive materialism?
Undecided, but it’s introspective food for thought.


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well spent.


In trying to make a life out of what is – more likely than not – temporary, I’ve begun taking on various calmly themed mantras, with hopes that I manage to convince myself that right now is a-okay.

Contentment is the current name of the game; a state of peaceful happiness. Entirely coincidentally (and in efforts to slough away baby baking insulation) I’ve been doing yoga for two weeks now, excluding two rest days, and today was the best yet. It’s hatha, a bit of yin, kundalini, plus a modified bikram, and they’re all excellent but I have the hardest time switching my brain off and focusing on the self awareness and respect that underlies yogic philosophy. This morning though, I saw some actual progress. As in, I can now do something that just last week was not do-able.

Personally that’s a huge deal, because one of my greatest pitfalls with self motivated anything exercise is I give up in .05 of a second because there’s no improvement. Because #slothlife. Incidentally I blame technology and gen y and mtv and fitspo.

Of course it’s much easier now because I have Leafs papa home in the mornings to watch her for the singular hour, so I’m not worrying about leaving her (that’s a TOTAL lie). Still, I worry about all the other things.

Not today though (again, a lie. But just a wee one)! Today I was calm and focused and listened to my body and had mental and physical breakthroughs.
I’m shamefully ridiculously embarrassingly proud of this so I’m making a point of carrying this feeling through the rest of the week (not sure if this one’s a lie. I suspect yes but is that just shooting it down before I even give Yogi Bambi a chance?).

To a week of content then!



Since we’ve moved leafs had a hard time of adjusting to the whole not being carried everywhere thing. Yeah, it’s cute that she’s tiny and all but she’s kind of not that tiny. I can’t really walk around the supermarket with her on my hip anymore, but thanks to that week at my parents she thinks that’s where she belongs – and not just when we’re out.

When we’re at home she wants to sit on me, lay on me, climb over me jump on my head lay across my chest have a quick impromptu milkshake use my stomach as a drum (that ol’ mama jelly belly can do more than just provide a soft pillowy pouch for little bottoms); more or less maintain physical contact in 90%+ humidity.
So she’s whinging because nothing and wants a banana but really just so she can share with the dog, she’s ripped pages out of my book and rubbed her strawberry fingers into my white shorts (that ones on me, I know. White? Yeah, whyte) and she’s skirting that fine line that is my last nerve but then clambers up for a sticky cuddle and a big ‘awwwwwww,’… What’s a girl to do but melt and request that the cuggle be deepened to a level where a parents arms aren’t required for the child’s suspension?

Thus, I’m forced to reflect upon this seesawing of emotions which serve wonderfully as reminders that I am so not ready for another child.
But if I had one, there’d be someone else to buffer the ridiculousness that is baby leafy.

And that, my friends, is cause for consideration.


Monday musings and over hyphenations.

In efforts to increase mental stimulation, I’m enforcing a new and regular segment here in leafy-ville: Monday musings.

Mondays are always a pensive day. All those missed opportunities from the weekend; all those things I told myself were plebeian M-F 9-5 tasks, but when I haven’t done them by Monday night I know I’ll be saying the same thing next weekend.

Procrastination is, in actual fact (not), my middle name.

Things get weird in hospitality land though. Monday is effectively our Thursday, and in leafy-land this is effectively irrelevant. But I still get those Monday-jeebies, those –itis‘, those blues‘. It is also possible in the not too distant future that Monday will become our Sunday. And what then?! Oh, the possibilities!
I’ve done it before but purely solo and leafy-land is a whole ‘nother ball game folks.

So, here’s to Motivated Monday (or whichever day it will be in leafy land, it’ll be Monday for the rest of you. Plebs.) Musings.