Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Highway Etiquette

When you upload a Vlog to YouTube it automatically chooses a still shot to be your thumbnail image.

Without fail mine is always a sneeze face. It's the height of attractiveness, the sneeze face.

You can go in and change the thumbnail, and being the completely vain person that I am, I swapped it for the least unattractive one there was. But it takes 36 hours for it to register apparently. So, for the next 36 hours... achoooo!

Do you wave to other drivers on the highway? Is it a fully fledged wave, a finger wave or snob nod?

He Did What!? Wednesday - By Slightly More Depth Than A Teaspoon

Man Flu - By Slightly More Depth Than A Teaspoon

When I was 'heavy with child' (dontcha just love that expression?) with my daughter, my darling husband was slightly inattentive. He had rudely decided to get a cold. So it follows that when I went into labour he was less than present.

I remember rolling around on the birthing ball when things were starting feeling more worried about him than me!

In the end my Mum came up and we sent him to the doctor. He proceeded to come back with antibiotics for tonsillitis- the nerve!

So during the entire birthing experience he was pretty absent. Instead my Mum and sister helped me through while he lay 'helping' on the couch nearby. He did manage to pull himself together and drag his ill, disease-ridden body to my bedside when the baby was actually born..... and then the midwife made him wear a mask when he first held our daughter (I have a feeling she was less than sympathetic).

Number two is on its way and due in December and he is under strict instructions to be as healthy as a horse!

I should note: He really is a fantastic husband and Dad- but is, of course, no match for man-flu!
___ . . . ___ . . . ___

Robyn from Slightly More Depth Than A Teaspoon is 23 years young and married to her high school sweetheart, Shane. She's a Christian Mummy Blogger and regularly writes about her faith, her life and her super cute bub, Georgie.

She's a stay at home mama to 1.5 children and rates that as far more difficult than looking after 16 all day at a child care centre like she used to.

She blogs and tweets late at night and uses it as an excuse to avoid doing the laundry and scrubbing the toilet.

Next week: Max's Mummy and the Hot Potato
 Send your S/He Did What!? submissions to
Please include a photo of yourself and all relevant links

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Buzzing With Excitement

The other day I was complaining as usual about how writing a bio is impossibly hard. Trying to spruik yourself without sounding like a wanker is a skill that I do not posses.

But I finally wrote one and combined it with the photo that got the most votes:

Ahh, but what is it for???

Well, yours truly is now officially a writer for The Daily Buzz, a website that finds all the must-have cool and funky toys, clothes and accessories for babies and kids (and a few things for the mamas too).

I'm buzzing with excitement at the chance to bee part of the team. See what I did there? That's the writing talent that got me a job, baby!

I'm kinda flipping out a bit because I now get to throw around words like copy, deadline and briefs (not the underwear variety, though I have been known to throw those around too). How grown up does that sound?

So go check out The Daily Buzz coo over how cute I am as a cowgirl on their about page.

Find The Daily Buzz on Facebook and Twitter

Friday, August 26, 2011

FlogYoBlog Friday: The Choppergate Edition

Frank the Anch-or: For this special Edition of FlogYoBlog Friday we're crossing live to our reporter, Glowless, in the chopper. You're live, Glow..

Glowless: Thanks, Frank. Hi everyone, welcome to FlogYoBlog Friday: The Choppergate Edition. At this moment I'm flying over the suburb of Balcatta...

Frank the Anch-or: Err, Glow, I think you might be mistaken...

Glowless: Did I say Balcatta? I meant Bayswater.

Frank the Anch-or: Nup, try again.

Glowless: OK, I give up. I'm out the back in front of a green screen. Not even in a chopper because the station couldn't afford one. But geeez, doesn't it look so real?!?!

Aviator sunnies add to the authenticity, right?

The Rules
(As stolen from Lori, thus making Baby Jesus cry... sorry)
  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 (Be nice and spread the comment love)
  6. The list will be open for linkyers on Fridays (and for the foreigners Friday as well)
  7. A new and fresh linky list will open every Friday. And you will have to link up AGAIN. The previous link list does not carry over to the following week
  8. Because I live in Dullsville Perth the list will open around 7am AWST - I'm not getting up at 5am and the last time I scheduled a post it didn't work.

get the InLinkz code

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Bubba Glow

No, I'm not pregnant, you can all exhale now.

I've been looking through stacks of albums and piles upon piles of shoeboxes at my parents' house recently for my own baby photos to attach to the bio I can't write for the project I can't tell you about (are you keeping up? No? Me neither). If you wanna help me pick, the top six are here to be voted on.

Anyway, tucked inside the album was one A5 page of milestone notes (third child, the novelty of note taking had worn off) and I had a good read and here are the best bits about the perfectly average little ol' me:
___ . . . ___ . . . ___

17.12.81 - Born at 2:11pm, weight 4.35 kg (9.6lb), length 53cm (BOOMBAH BABY!)

3 days old - Fully bottle fed (And I turned out fine. No really, I mean it. Stop laughing.)

Six months - Can sit by herself for about a minute

Seven months - Crawls in a fashion elbows first then moves along (Commando baby)

Nine months - Took her out of the walkers as she fell face first on to the floor. Cracked her lip. Crawls properly. Can say "Dad Dad" and wave bye bye. Has four teeth.

Ten months - Glowless now pulls herself up on all the furniture, has five teeth, can say "Mum Mum" and "Hello" but it's more just a singing sound. 

Twelve months - Glowless now walks fully by herself

Fourteen months - Can say "Nanna" "Bye bye" "chasey". Climbs on everything. Gets up to mischief. Brat. (What a loving mother)

Eighteen months - First trip to the dentist - broken teeth. Very good at going to bed at night, wakes up once or twice

Twenty months - First sleep in her new bed - hates it. Takes Jimbalyn (my doll) with her. Hassles.

Two years - Had two year old test - is advanced in talking - mother's side - clever (and I haven't shut up ever since!)

Two years - Have had second opinion on Glowless' teeth. Two front teeth must come out because she has abscesses.

Nawww I was cute!
___ . . . ___ . . . ___

Ahh, isn't she lovely. And now you know where I get my sense of humour from.

And I wonder why she just rolls her eyes at me when I complain about Tricky climbing on the coffee table and dancing.

And for the record, I was waaay slower at reaching milestones than Tricky and I turned out awesome. STOP LAUGHING!!!

Have you looked through your baby notes? Were you a brat?

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

He Did What!? Wednesday - By A Desert Rambler

Shoulda Asked For Directions - By A Desert Rambler 

My husband and I are big on camping. To many people, that is enough to certify us as insane. At times I'm inclined to agree with them. Especially when it means your vehicle gets stuck in a creek miles from anywhere and you have to traipse through the bush in your underwear.
A few years ago we took a holiday by the river on a picturesque Queensland cattle station.One day we decided to drive to a billabong on the property for a picnic. We could have done this anywhere - there was no shortage of pretty spots.
But my husband, being a hunter, decided it had to be this spot because it offered the possibility of game.To get there we had to drive through a creek. The kind that has, you know, water in it.
"Looks a bit deep," I said. "She'll be right," he said.
"Maybe we should give it a miss," I said. "It'll be right," he said.
"Maybe we should at least look for a better crossing," I said. "It'll be FINE," he said.
And drove through. It was fine.
We arrived at the waterhole, had our picnic, and he hunted.
With him in very high spirits after being proven right and his hunting success, we headed back. And got bogged in the creek. Up to the axles.
Sadly not a photo of the bright red jocks
We pushed. We pulled. We performed acrobatics climbing in and out of the ute via the windows, because opening the doors would flood the cab. We flecked about with an improvised winch thingy.
But it was bogged. Big time.
Eventually he stripped off his dripping pants and we paraded, him in bright red jocks, through the countryside back to the tent on foot.
Once there we were where was able to get help, thankfully. Not so thankfully, it was from a guy who drove like all the demons of hell were on his rather intoxicated tail. He almost killed us several times on the trip back to our vehicle. And who also kindly informed us there was an established crossing a couple of hundred meters downstream.
___ . . . ___ . . . ___

The fabulous Emma blogs over at A Desert Rambler (not a dessert rambler, even though I think that would be ace too).

She's a Sandgroper like me and is living it up, as the blog title would suggest, in the desert (not dessert). The Goldfields to be exact, where she's surrounded by a husband, two dogs, a cat and a whole lotta red dirt.

When she's not working as a lab tech she's designing websites and faffing about on the internet and tweeting.

Next week: Wanna go Slightly Deep?
 Send your S/He Did What!? submissions to
Please include a photo of yourself and all relevant links

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Bio, Bio, It's Off To Work We Go

I'm having major dramas at Casa de Glow today. Actually, if I'm honest, I've been having them for a while now. I sit down to write and nothing happens. It's worse than Blogger's Block... it's Bio Block.

Have you ever written your own bio? It's bloody hard work. I write them weekly for the He Did What!? Wednesday guest posters but I can't make my own. I'm meant to be writing TWO at the moment for separate projects (that I can't officially tell you about yet... do I seem mysterious and aloof?) that are so different from each other and anything else I've done before that I can't just copy paste. 

All I used to have was "I blog because it's cheaper than therapy and just as effective" but I realized other than painting me (accurately) as a scary crazy lady it didn't say anything of a biographical nature. So I added "I'm pushing the envelope, pushing 30, pushing limits and pushing my luck".

OK so that doesn't really say much more about me at all, does it?

In The Media Kit I went a bit tongue in cheek and took advantage of having a bit more space and went as far as saying in my life Pre-Tricky I spent most of my time removing unwanted hair from womens' nether regions. Ya-huh. The kit that talks about vaginas got a mention at Blogopolis. Don't worry, I was just as surprised as you.

You need to have confidence in yourself to write a good bio. The amazing Mama Grace tells me I should "embrace my awesomeness" so I was hoping I could just write "I'm totally awesome" and be done with it but Allison Tait has reminded me that it should really be written in the third person so that just won't do.

But you see I also don't want anyone reading it to think I'm conceited so I've decided, after weeks and weeks of deliberations on the following:

Glowless is awesome and not at all stuck up. No, seriously.

Short and sharp, baby. 

Do you have a bio? Did you find it hard to write? Do you sound like a stuck up attention whore when you try to write one or is that just me?

___ . . . ___ . . . ___

EDIT: My blog crush Parental Parody has just emailed me an amazing bio. I loves you PP!!!

Glowless is a mother to one, mentor to many. She has impossibly awesome hair. Always. She also has amazing eyebrows. When not excelling at the parenting thing (seriously…she even uses cloth nappies), she blogs. Her blog is enjoyed by trillions, as gauged in a recent poll (she is officially more popular than Bieber, but she’s modest and doesn’t like to brag).

She has a sincere affection for Toblerone cocktails, and it should be noted that her main Rock Star demand for attending functions and events, be the availability of said Toblerone cocktails.  She also travels with an entourage, but I’m totally not fussy about what I drink, as long as it’s not beer or tequila.

Monday, August 22, 2011

An Open Letter to Darren Simpson

Dear Darren,

Oh dear. What were you thinking?

I used to think you were a bit of alright. You were one of the only schmucks chefs on Ready Steady Cook I could bear to watch. I will admit to being charmed by your accent (I'm a sucker for the pearl of the Green Isle) more than your food and I even thought you were a bit of a dish, if you'll pardon the pun.

But now, Dazza? Well I'm a bit surprised. You don't mind if I call you Dazza, do you? It seems fitting now that you've aligned yourself with such bogan cuisine (oxymoron FTW!).

Just so we're clear, I actually like KFC and I could care less that people align themselves with brands. All power to them, it doesn't automatically make them a sell out. But doesn't partnering with KFC to create a 'signature range' go against every thing you've publicly said about the value of good food?

The other day you defended yourself by saying that people were "quick to label fast food junk" and that you were surprised that there was criticism of your effort to "improve the quality of it".

Now I believe when people label it junk they're referring to nutritional value and calorie count. I fail to see how chucking a piece of deep fried, battered chicken on a sour dough bun and whacking on a bit of parmesan changes very much by those standards. It's still junk food.

Kudos for using free range chicken, but that alone does not a gourmet, non-junk burger make.

I have done what you have asked and tried your burgers before passing judgement. In your super fabulously appointed kitchen they may come out looking all food porn like this:

But they're a little less appetizing when they're put together by a pimply faced, angsty teen at my local KFC:

But wait!, I hear you say, it's all about the presentation. So, for your benefit, I "plated up".

Nup, it's still shit. Anaemic lettuce and bacon that I'm pretty sure wasn't cooked. And lemme just say even with the aid of an Instagram filter to give it a bit more colour, there is no way of telling what is bun, what is cheese and what is lettuce since they are all the same shade of off-white. Mmm beige, my favourite.

And that is what you've put your name to, Dazza. Not the fancy pants version you made, but the plain, ordinary, almost-one-third-of-daily-energy-requirement version that gets handed out every day. So if you're gonna say that what's in my picture is not junk food, then that, and not the money you made, makes you a sell out.

Yours in calories,

P.S. The chips were still good.

Friday, August 19, 2011

FlogYoBlog Friday - The International Bad Poetry Day Edition

There was a girl hosting The Flog,
With a new edition each time on her blog,
But it had been a tough week,
And she felt pretty bleak,
So she just found an interesting day to name it after and figured that would do.

Howdy Floggers! It's International Bad Poetry Day, could you tell?

Yes, there is such a day (I know, I was surprised too). Well actually it was the 18th but for half the world it still will be when this goes live, so that's good enough for me!

Feel like winning something? Write me a bad poem below and the best of the worst will win... I dunno yet, but I'll get ya something pretty from Typo

Let's Flog, baby.

The Rules
(As stolen from Lori, thus making Baby Jesus cry... sorry)
  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 (Be nice and spread the comment love)
  6. The list will be open for linkyers on Fridays (and for the foreigners Friday as well)
  7. A new and fresh linky list will open every Friday. And you will have to link up AGAIN. The previous link list does not carry over to the following week
  8. Because I live in Dullsville Perth the list will open around 7am AWST - I'm not getting up at 5am and the last time I scheduled a post it didn't work.


get the InLinkz code

P.S. Many thanks to everyone who sent me lovely tweets, comments and emails over the past weeks sending prayers, thoughts and well wishes to my family. It is so very much appreciated. I actually find it really hard to reply to them and I'm not entirely sure why xxx

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Natural Transition - Plus FREE Hugalugs!

I have said before that I'm a daisy chain away from being a full blown hippy what with my drug free birthing, breastfeeding, home cookin' shenanigans. I embrace my inner Crunchy Mama and for the purposes of wearing that crown, ignore all the meat and processed food I eat.

So when Julie from Natural Transition kindly offered to help me get to Blogopolis I thought it was a really good fit since her site is a resource for all things natural pregnancy and birth related. I actually offered to get a Natural Transition tattoo on my forehead for the conference yet strangely enough Julie declined. Can you believe it? Weird.

Julie is a Sydney based naturopath, breastfeeding counsellor and natural fertility consultant and her Natural Transition website is an amazing resource full of information on everything baby related; from fertility, pregnancy, birth to breastfeeding and more... and it's all FREE! And we know how much I like free things.

Julie is obviously doing something right because she's a finalist in the Bio-Oil Ausmumpreneur awards in the Eco Friendly Business category for her Natural Transition shop and in the People's Choice Best Blog category. The first one is judged by a panel interview (aargh!!) but the second one is a vote, so if you've got a tick, you can go here and click the pink like button down the bottom.

I checked out the shop and here are a few things that I wanna get my hands on:

I used reusable nursing pads when Tricky was feeding round the clock and I was on Dairy Duties, but they were plain and boring pastel colours. I wish I had these! Hooters for your hooters! Huzzah!
Cheeky Bits Boutique Nursing Pads $8.00
I'm a massive babywearing advocate and I own three different types of carriers. The one that I used the most was my Hug-A-Bub. But I want a black one so I can wear it clubbing I can mix and match with my outfits because I'm terribly vain!

Black Hug-A-Bub $125.00
Now this I have just ordered. Nappy bucket deodorizers! We've been cloth nappying for 14 months now, you'd think I would have learned to hold my breath when I open the bucket. Even washing daily as I do, the ammonia smacks you in the face when you open the bucket. These babies are bamboo charcoal and absorb odours!
Pure Bamboo Nappy Bucket Deodorizer $7.95

I was a skeptic of baby legwarmers until I was given a pair recently and now I love them. They're really funky and a great way of showing off Tricky's awesome cloth nappies too! These are so freakin cool but I can't choose between skull and cross bones and stripey. Hrm bad ass or rainbow child?.

Hugalugs Leg Huggers $10.00 or FREE with a GlowJob!

If you need anything fertility, pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding or mamahood related, be it advice, information or a product, then head over and check out Natural Transition. Right now she's offering a FREE pair of Hugalugs legwarmers with any purchase if you mention GLOWJOB at the checkout. You even get to choose what design you want, how cool is that?

So head over now and grab something for yourself or for a friend.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

He Did What!? Wednesday - By Sheri Bomb

The Gift That Keeps On Giving - By Sheri Bomb

At the end of July my boyfriend and I went down to Melbourne. I was attending nnb2011 and he was just along for the ride.

On the Saturday while the conference was on he spent the day wandering around the city checking out some of the shops.

When I got back to the hotel room on Saturday evening he proudly proclaimed that while I had been at the conference he had been thoughtful enough to get me a present.

I won't lie, I was a little touched and excited.

He reached into a brown paper bag and with a flourish produced: Poo Cow!

A little cow key ring that squirts brown goo from its rear end when you squeeze it.

Behold, Poo Cow!
I was a little shocked and gave a nervous laugh before waiting for the REAL present.

That was it.

I asked him if he was SERIOUS?

He said yes. Deadly.

Look at it, you'll always remember this from Melbourne.

Later he wrote <3 Melbourne on one side of it.

He's an eccentric man.

I'm still not sure whether to consider this sweet or just plain weird.
___ . . . ___ . . . ___

Sheri is da bomb who blogs at Sheri Bomb! She blogs about pin up, fashion, music, style, decor and cars.

She is all things 1930's - 1950's. Vintage and Rockabillly and Retro, oh my!

You can check out her gun slingin' ways on Twitter and Facebook and while you're there check out all her sex-ay pin up shots. Va va voom!

Next week: Time for some Rambling
 Send your S/He Did What!? submissions to
Please include a photo of yourself and all relevant links

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Waiting and Dying

Last Tuesday I was having lunch with my Dad. His phone rang and I don't know why or how, but I just knew that it would be my Uncle saying that my Grandfather was dying or dead. For almost a week now we have been waiting for the inevitable.

Yesterday it happened again. I had a missed call while I was on the phone to someone else. I heard the familiar beep beep of the other line and then again for the voice message. I didn't even have to listen to it to know. It was time. The family was being summoned to the hospital to say their final goodbyes to my Grandfather. The wait was almost over.

I run to the bathroom and furiously rub away my makeup. Bright red lips are too perky for ICU. Tricky and I jump in the car and make our way to the hospital. Partly to say goodbye, but mostly to support my Dad.

Since having his operation last week, my Grandfather never regained consciousness. He would show some signs of improvement but with each step forward he would take two back. His body was failing, even with so much intervention. The decision was made to remove life support.

We gather around his bed. His wife, his five children, two of their partners (one is my Mum), three of his grandchildren and one sweet little Tricky boy who senses that something is up. He is unusually calm and happy to be held. All these people, most of whom Tricky hasn't met before, smile at him with sad eyes and he smiles back. He never smiles at strangers. Maybe he knows they are family?

It has been years since all the children were in the same room and we are all aware that this morose family reunion should not have happened this way. Not like this. There should be food and wine not ventilators and catheters.

We hug and we cry. And we wait for it all to happen. For the show to begin. For the show to end. For death to come.

My Dad holds his father's hand. They have the same hands and it's difficult to tell which is which. I look around and notice that they all have the same hands.

The Priest arrives. All the identical hands join in a circle around the bed and the Last Rites are read. Tricky decides now would be a good time to giggle. I cringe and apologize and everyone else just smiles at him... he is a welcome distraction. A bundle of life in stark contrast to the shell of a man who lays upon the bed.

The nurse, an absolute angel, stops the medication. One by one we go to him and say a few words. When it is my turn I walk to his side with Tricky on my hip. I hold my Pop's hand and lean in to kiss his forehead, mumbling some last words in his ear. I call him mate and then immediately wonder why I said it. It's sounds stupid and foreign and I hope that no one else has heard me.

I stand back up and without any prompting Tricky looks at his Great Grandfather and waves bye bye. He knows. My Dad crumples and his body is racked with heaving sobs. My Mum holds him and weeps, memories of a much earlier time haunting her.

We wait. We share memories of happy times, practical jokes and a warped sense of humour. I have forgotten that he was once funny, it seems so long ago. I mention the Easter, when I was only young, that he handed me a large, heavy, gift wrapped box that had me so excited... only to find a tiny egg and a brick inside.

The sobs of "what a great man" and "I'll miss him so much" anger me. These are the people who complained loudly when it was their turn to finally help out when my Dad couldn't do it any more. The people who hated helping so much they rang my Dad five short days after his open heart surgery, when he was still in hospital, to ask when he could drive again so desperate were they to be rid of the old man. Who after only six months of helping him have forgotten who it was that took care of it all for years. But now is not the time for bitterness... that will come, I just know it.

After almost an hour he is ready to go, he is ashen. The nurse asks if we'd like the breathing tube removed for the final few minutes. Everyone solemnly nods. Take it away, let him have his last few minutes on earth with as few tubes as possible.

The wait is almost over. The final drabs of life drain from his face and he is gone. A doctor quietly comes in to confirm it. She warms her hands before feeling for a pulse and apologizes to him, by name, for their iciness. If it wasn't so sad I would laugh. Warming your hands to touch a corpse has to be the height of compassion.

The formalities of death are over and the time is noted. 1:20pm. I stroke his tattooed arm and kiss his forehead. Still warm. I wonder how long it takes for a body to go cold and panic that I might have asked out loud.

My fear from last week has eventuated. I have watched someone die. Witnessed their soul leave their body. I am overwhelmed and it is hard to process. I am the first to leave the room, making my excuses that Tricky needs to go and I head straight for the bathrooms where I scrub at my hands as if the stench of death is on them.

And now we wait again. We all know it won't be long before we are back here, going through the same motions, with the wife he has left behind.

Four Generations: My Grandparents, my Dad and I with a two day old Tricky

Monday, August 15, 2011

Oreo Macaroons

Bless me, Mother Magneto, for I have sinned. Until yesterday I had never made a macaroon or a macaron. In fact, I'd never even tasted one. But, it gets worse, a mortal sin it would seem... I had no freaking clue that they were different things.

Do you know the difference? MasterChef didn't and they got in BIG trouble for it. I do now. You can call me Smuggy McSmuggerson as I sit here in my foodie smugness. 

So anyway I was avoiding my own melancholy thoughts yesterday and saw Nicole from Planning With Kids tweet this recipe for coconut macaroons with chocolate and figured it was about time I lost my macaroon virginity. I'm not a major fan of coconut but thought I'd try them out and see. Since I have zero baking ingredients in my house I hauled my butt down to the local to grab some coconut and sugar when I spied something and had a calorie-laden thought.

Hrmmm. I wonder if I could just replace 2 cups of coconut with 2 cups of CRUSHED OREOS!?!?!

Behold, the awesome:
Oreo Macaroons
(makes about 18)
  • 2 egg whites
  • 1/2 cup caster sugar
  • 100grams of grated chocolate
  • 150grams of crushed Oreos (I used a food processor to get it really fine)

  • Beat egg whites until stiff (optional to make stiffy jokes with your significant other)
  • Keep beating and slowly add in sugar - beat until glossy and smooth
  • Fold in half your chocolate and ALL the crushed Oreos with a metal spoon (this means you can't sample any before you add them, OK!)

  • Using a dessert spoon, dollop mounds of mixture on to a lined baking tray
  • Bake at 150 degrees Celsius (130 fan forced) for 12-15 minutes
  • Melt the remaining chocolate (takes about 45 seconds if it's grated)
  • Drizzle the chocolate over the cooled macaroons
Serve and watch your family bow down at your awesomeness

Oreo Macaroons. Embrace the Awesomeness
Crunchy on the outside, ooey gooey chewy on the inside. Noms!

And no, I've still not tasted a macaron. Aunty Penny says they taste like crunchy air, someone will have to send me some so I can decide for myself *hint hint*

Friday, August 12, 2011

FlogYoBlog Friday: The Auslan Edition

For your *ahem* viewing pleasure...

Yet another classic still frame. Ahh, lovely.

If you're bored and wanting a laugh, you can see me make a fool of myself even more by checking out my YouTube channel.

The Rules
(As stolen from Lori, thus making Baby Jesus cry... sorry)
  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 (Be nice and spread the comment love)
  6. The list will be open for linkyers on Fridays (and for the foreigners Friday as well)
  7. A new and fresh linky list will open every Friday. And you will have to link up AGAIN. The previous link list does not carry over to the following week
  8. Because I live in Dullsville Perth the list will open around 7am AWST - I'm not getting up at 5am and the last time I scheduled a post it didn't work.

get the InLinkz code

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Of Death, Census and Resources

At this moment, my grandfather lies in an induced coma in intensive care.

On Tuesday we got a phone call saying he had only a few hours left to live, and that if we wanted to say goodbye it was time. It happened so quickly, the day before he appeared fine.

I have never been close to him. I honestly could not say that I love him, I've never had the opportunity to. But still, hearing that someone you have known your entire life, your Father's Father, is about to draw their last breath is confronting to say the least.

His diagnosis? Pancreatitis. Necrosis. Septicemia. They're ugly words. Ugly to read, ugly to hear. Though far worse to experience them, I can tell you.

You know it's serious when you are escorted through a packed triage to a resus alcove of the emergency room with a sign on the door that says one visitor at a time and they let in three adult children, one adult grandchild and one great grandchild in a massive pram. The rules don't count at times like that.

I go over, kiss him hello and squeeze his shoulder, the only place that doesn't seem to have tubes or wires coming out.

"Hello, Glow, you're looking good"

"Hey Pop, Yeah I'm real good. Got a few tubes going on there, don't ya?"

Stilted, pathetic conversation. I don't know what to say. What can you say? I only came because you're dying? He knows that anyway, I'm sure.

I stand back and watch the scene unfold, not wanting to get in the way. I thank some unknown deity that Tricky is managing to sleep through all the chaos. A screaming toddler is not a welcome addition in a room thick with tension.

His heart rate and blood pressure are wildly erratic. They soar and bells chime, then moments later they plummet and yet more buzzers go off, this time with more urgency. I watch the numbers drop, drop, dropping and he blacks out. I've never been in a situation like this before, and it occurs to me that I might be about to witness someone die.

The medical team aren't rushing about like you see in the movies or the reality emergency room shows. It's so obvious, even though they are amazingly supportive and empathetic, that they are certain of how the events are about to unfold. Why rush? They are doing a slow, perfectly choreographed waltz of death.

Death Invites the Old Man for a Last Dance - Frans Franken 1635
It's bizarre how your mind works when the Grim Reaper himself is in the room, looming in the shadows. As the machines alarm announcing his heart failing, I find myself wondering if he's filled out his census form yet... if he dies will they still hand that one in or fill out a new one? My cheeks burn, and I flush with shame that I let my mind go there.

He is in and out of consciousness but when he is there, he is lucid. He knows exactly what is happening and it tears at my insides like a rake dragging across flesh. How bizarre must it be to hear people talking in hushed tones about you? Whispering "he's a very ill man... he doesn't have much time left" and knowing that it's about to all end. Laying there wondering what's on the other side. Praying? Cursing? Regretting?

He grasps my aunt's hand, "Look after your mum. Don't put her in a home."

My grandmother, so small and weak and fragile, holds his hand silently. I can see her heart breaking. For a couple who seemed to never smile, never laugh, never show any signs of affection to anyone... here they are, showing me that there is love there. I am surprised, joyful and saddened at the same time.

He chooses to have surgery, with only a 20% chance of surviving. For her. A 20% chance to get better, go home, and care for her. It's all for her. 

And all I can think, even as I watch it happening to my own family; my grandmother broken, my aunt openly weeping for her 'Papa', my father and uncle steeling themselves with arms folded across their chests; is what a waste of resources. 

He is an old man, not just knocking at death's door but stepping over the threshold. How many thousands of dollars are being spent to prolong his life? And for what? A few extra days in a coma?

Where do we draw the line? Where does quality of life come in? And whose quality is more important; the person about to die or the people they leave behind to pick up the pieces? Who gets to decide that?

EDIT: Thank you all for your lovely comments. I have replied to those that left a story and an email address. I find it really hard to reply to comments like these, my usual sarcastic self doesn't quite know what to do. 

My grandfather passed away at 1:20pm on Monday 15th August with his wife, five children, two of their partners, three grandchildren and one great grandchild by his side.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

He Did What!? Wednesday - By Mother's Love Letters

He Wanted To Play "Highway To Hell" At Our Wedding - By Mother's Love Letters

What happens when this man (note T-Shirt, hair and goatee soaked in beer):

...brings a baby into the world?

See result:

This is my husband with our son. I am the only one in our little family who doesn’t own a Metallica shirt.

If you think my baby looks scared, you will be echoing the sentiments of others on facebook.

However, if you ask my husband, his staunch position is that our son is, in fact, practising his “death stare” (whatever that means).

I prefer to portray this, much nicer and prettier, version of our family (I’m sure the ladies in the house would agree):

When Ms Glowless asked me to guest post, my biggest challenge was deciding on which “He Did What!?” event to report on...

The time my husband changed our son on a dog mat?

How he wanted to play Highway To Hell for our bridal waltz?

How he asked me to time my own contractions – AND make hand-written notes – while I was giving birth to his child?

To be fair, I could equally tell you about how my dear husband baked me very lovely, anti-nausea muffins when I was incapacitated by morning sickness.

Or how he went out and bought me a breast pump (top of the range, mind you). Or that he recently sent me flowers, with a card saying what a fantastic mother I am. Awww....

But last time I checked our marriage certificate, the fine print did say I had the unfettered right to pay him out publicly on certain cool blogs (with his full knowledge and consent, of course.)

We couldn’t be more different, on the surface. We’ve come from totally different families, backgrounds and experiences.

Yet, our stark differences and seemingly unlikely match, perfectly combined to create our beautiful son. I am reminded of this, daily, by my son’s eyes and complexion.

And for this very reason, I was inspired to write a letter to our child about embracing the beauty of the differences between people, called Don’t Be Afraid of People’s Differences.

And NO, just to confirm - Highway To Hell DID NOT make it on the wedding song list.
___ . . . ___ . . . ___

The amazing Lina from Mother's Love Letters is an absolute doll. I had the privilege of meeting her at Blogopolis the other week and she is one of those people that just radiate warmth and kindness. She was also radiating from her chest from being away from her munchkin, but that's a different story.

Lina, who was a high powered solicitor before she decided to become a SAHM, has such a way with words that you leave her blog feeling all lovely and mooshy inside. But she can also make you giggle, especially when you check out her AMAZING video of 'All The Pregnant Ladies' filmed when she was 28 weeks pregnant.

If you want to connect with Lina you can check her out on Facebook and Twitter too.

Next week: Sheri is da bomb
 Send your S/He Did What!? submissions to
Please include a photo of yourself and all relevant links
New reader here after the #nnb2011 hype? I'm currently seeking submissions for September

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


A while back the VegemiteVix tagged me in a Pay It Forward blog post. I don't often participate in them because they're a little too chain-letter-ish for my liking. I used to hate getting chain letters, even the harmless ones in school. Being told I would get pimples if I didn't pass on a letter is just bullshit... I did pass on a few of those bloody letters and I got pimples anyway.

But being tagged by someone as awesome as VegemiteVix? Different story. It's always nice to be tagged by someone you think is cool because of that little place inside that says "someone cool thinks I'm taggable? Wicked".

But then I hit a hurdle.

I have no freakin idea what the Pay It Forward meme is, other than you tag some blogs that you read... what else? Um... er... nup, I dunno.

So, considering the original tag was included in a post that also had meme where you describe yourself as a house for sale, a highclass call girl and a housewife. I'm just gonna run with that one and while it's visiting Where's My Glow? I'm gonna rename it Home/Hooker/Housewife because I have a thing for alliteration and I like to be different. It's like a Variation on a Theme Meme.

Miss Vix actually did it properly because the woman can write, she even "writes copy" whatever that means. Now I'm not a writer so I will just wing it with my tongue embedded firmly in cheek as always. I'll let you figure out the euphemisms yourself.


For Sale: Bargain Fix-er Upper-er-er-er

Conveniently located on a highly fertile dairy farm, this would be the perfect house for a growing family, with plenty of room, spacious verandahs and a really huge back yard for the kids to run around in.

The location needs some work, and has been let go in the past few years, particularly in the attic. All baggage there has been left behind by the previous occupant - there are sure to be many treasures in amongst the skeletons if you take time to sift through it.

Out front is a poorly maintained, overgrown garden. But nothing a little weed killer and TLC couldn't fix.


This buxom brunette beauty is a qualified masseuse but will charm you with her humour and style before she ever lays a hand on your aching... shoulders. Don't be fooled though, this girl does not come cheap. Start saving your pennies now, it'll all be worth it for the infamous Glow Job.

Sex and Candy, baby!

Housewife wanted, apply within. To replace current model which is failing to maintain any semblance of order normally associated with the running of a household.

Current model refuses to clean and just shoves things behind closed doors and in to cupboards.

Though when it does cook, it cooks good. But will not tidy up after itself.

Tag, you're it. Toushka Lee and Calm Blue Ocean. Beat my alliteration sensation, I dare you!


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