Could you dig the Ultimate Date Night in Berlei Dig-Free hosiery?

This is a S2 post

For full details please see my disclosure policy

So here’s the cold, hard truth. I haven’t spent too much quality time with Map Guy lately. Between tag-team conferences on the other side of the country, our work commitments, a house that stubbornly refuses to clean itself and the general upheaval of life with an adventurous toddler, we’ve both been busier than usual. Oh and let’s not forget those 14 weeks of insane morning sickness, exhaustion and Hulk RAGE where, for his own safety, Map Guy soothingly stroked my hair and then kept a wide berth at all other times.

When I was given the opportunity to put all of that behind us; put us back at the top of our own priority lists and just spend uninterrupted quality time together, well I just couldn’t say no.

Berlei offered to shout us a date night. I can’t tell you how long it has been since we’ve been on a date. Sure we’ve been to weddings and parties without Tricky for a few hours, but we’ve not really been alone. Unless you count the drive home from all those weddings when the tipsy one is half falling asleep in the passenger seat and the sober driver is flicking radio stations trying to find something that isn’t either lift music or death metal – totally romantic.

I was sent some Berlei Dig-Free hosiery to wear on our night out, to see what I thought of them. They have no front seam and have a wide, smoothing band around the tummy designed to make you look and feel fabulous. Not as hard core as Spanx, but definitely of the hold-you-in variety.

So Dig-Free but smoothing, huh? I’ll be the judge of that. And because I *ahem* take my reviewing very seriously, I felt the Gluttony Seven Deadly Sins Package at the Vines Resort which includes a four course dinner would do the trick. See that? Dedication. You’re welcome.

Map Guy and I handballed Tricky to his Perth grandparents and headed out to wine country (yes, the irony is not lost on me) and after the mandatory jumping on the hotel bed and checking out of the bathroom with massive spa, got ourselves dolled up for dinner!



Lemme tell you, nothing puts sucky-inny tights to the test like stuffing your face with four courses. Particularly when preggers.

We feasted on a fresh bread course, entrées of Korean style chili and sesame prawns and stuffed baby squid, mains of fillet steak and pork belly, and desserts of chocolate tart and trifle. I could only manage two bites of my dessert because I was ready to burst (but just had to try it!) and was surprised to find that the Dig-Free was indeed Dig-Free. Yep, I was a sceptic. There, I’ve said it. Even with my baby belly pushing out under that waistband I felt comfy.



I honestly felt like they were Berlei there. OK, yeah, that went too far. I apologise, not funny at all. But I didn’t have the giant red lines I normally get from hosiery and didn’t have the whole “get-these-tights-off-me-as-soon-as-we-get-to-the-room” feeling. Well, I did, but *ahem* not for that reason…

What?! We’d been almost 4000km apart for a week!

We ended our getaway how all good resort visits should finish: in the spa with body wash poured in to see just how high the bubbles would get! FYI, pretty bloody towering!

It was such a lovely experience and I’m really grateful we got the opportunity to reconnect. With Bobbin on the way, who knows when the next we’ll get the chance to sneak away for a night off will be?

For your chance to win the Ultimate Date Night to reconnect with your partner (or bestie!) – dinner for two, a one night’s stay in a hotel & limo transfers with some sexy Berlei Dig-Free products - tell me in a comment below (or here through Facebook if you're anti-Disqus) how you make yourself feel desirable and not (just) a mum/office worker/lawyer/sales assistant/insert other here?

Full terms and conditions are available here.

The B&B Bee

When Aunty Penny and I went on our mini-break to Northam to go Hot Air Ballooning we stayed in a cute little B&B right on the Avon river. It had everything you would expect from a B&B - a comfy bed, a clean bathroom, tea and coffee facilities (aka a kettle and a couple cups), and a TV that got My Kitchen Rules. Turns out it also had a free added extra in the form of a stow-away bee that came in on my jeans.

Walking around the town we'd seen bees bloody everywhere. Every tree we walked past was buzzing and we kept doing the I've-just-been-dive-bombed-by-a-bee ninja dance. The thing is no one else sees the bee so it just looked like we were both spontaneously break dancing. Badly. It was very attractive.

I have been stung by bees more times than I care to remember (a result of embracing my inner-feral and refusing to keep my shoes on as a child) and every time I would swell up like a balloon and be rushed off to get some antihistamines. Nothing life threatening, just a temporary case of what looked rather like elephantitis.

The last time I was stung was the day of the end of school concert when I was in year one. I was two weeks away from the huge milestone of turning six (requires TWO HANDS to display = major milestone) and as I sat cross legged in the sun rehearsing "The Daisies In The Meadow" a bee landed just above my ankle, no doubt attracted by a group of children with oversize daisies on their heads.

For the first time in my whole life I did not panic. My mum had flicked away bees with her fingernail so many times and I was sure I could do the same. I would be a hero. I would go home and tell her proudly that I had done what she had always tried to get me to do. There would be NO STING on concert day. I calmly went to flick the bee away, just like I had seen her do... only I hadn't paid too much attention and flicked so hard down the bee IMPLANTED IN MY FUCKING LEG!

There was much crying and flailing as my teacher dug out not only the sting but a few legs and a wing. The swelling started straight away and my parents were called to pick me up. I spent the rest of the day with my leg raised, sucking down antihistamines and begging to be allowed to perform on stage at the concert. I hadn't put all that effort in to my ice-cream bucket hat with petals attached for nothing, ya know?

Image Credit via CC: Treesha Duncan

A pair of tights were sought and the show went on. The ultimate performer with a flower hat and one leg twice the size of the other all the way from my toes to my hip. For the record, me and my fat leg completely rocked out and I still remember the words to that song. No doubt the trauma of the day has imprinted it in my brain for eternity.

So anyway, back to Northam! Aunty Penny and I were getting ready for bed at the Nanna time of 8:00pm when the bee dropped from my jeans on to my foot between my toes and, deciding that his lack of grip on denim was in fact my fault, stung me immediately.

I graduated from bee avoidance ninja dance to holy-fuck-I-don't-remember-it-hurting-so-damn-much cha cha followed by the desperate flamenco of someone thinking they're about to have an allergic reaction.

It had been 25 long years since my last sting and in those years I was always told to assume the allergy remained and rather than subject myself to a sting to test the theory I just went with it. So after scraping the sting from between my toes with my fingernails I put my foot up and so began the "Great Toe Stare of 2013". For someone who hates feet, this was almost as painful as the sting itself.

As we watched to see if my whole leg would swell I started Googling things like "outgrow sting allergy" "bee sting allergy pregnant" and "why me?". Meanwhile Map Guy informed me that if I did have a reaction I'd have to go to hospital since extended trading hours is a concept still quite foreign to that tiny town. Great.

The area started to puff up a little and a red line started to streak down my foot. Oh fuck, here it comes, I thought. But then the most lovely thing happened... nothing. The anti-climax to beat all anti-climaxes! I am officially no longer allergic to bees!

Despite this fabulous news I am still going to be ninja dancing my way around them though because DAMN it bloody hurt.

How long since you've been stung by a bee? Are you a ninja dancer?

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

The Squirminator

This is a S1 post

For full details please see my disclosure policy

Over the past year and a bit I’ve watched my girlfriends in my mothers group bring in their squirmy babies and wondered why on earth anyone would go back there and have another when they're just getting out of the completely dependent stage. Of course, the answer is simple. They’re an adorable, heartwarming and rather rewarding way to spend your time (*coughmoneycough*). Whilst I am quite obviously going for round two right now there are still days when I wonder if it will all come flooding back when Bobbin arrives, or if I'll have to re-learn everything again.

I've never been one to miss the stages as they go by. Whilst I join in on the "he doesn't look like a baby any more" post hair cut cooing, I am yet to actually lament "Oh my baby is growing up!", probably because my practical brain says "Duh, of COURSE he is, that's his JOB!". There are some stages I was rather fond to see the back of (hourly breastfeeding, anyone?) and one in particular tested my patience - the squirm stage. I say stage as if it ends. HAH!

I was not a fan of The Squirminator at all. What is a Squirminator? Think "I'll be (on my) back... then my front... then my side... then hanging from the nearest cupboard" and you'll get the picture.

The way I see it, there are four main options when it comes to drooling, wriggling, whingey Squirminators at change time:

1. Have a supply of gaffa tape* handy at your change table. Make sure to put it over baby’s clothes because getting that sticky residue off skin is a pain. Alternatively use Velcro* - it will be more expensive up front but you’ll get to reuse it.

2. Hire a children's entertainer to stand by the change table to distract the tiny Squirminator. That farm yard mobile they saw four times yesterday just isn't going to cut it today, you need variety. Think fairies, jugglers, pirates and more. But not clowns. That is how phobias are made.

3. Get some Huggies Nappy-Pants so you don’t have to worry about the laying down wriggle – the standing up Squirminator is so much easier to handle and without a change table you don't have to worry about your cherub launching themselves off it while you reach for a wipe.

We used modern cloth nappies for day use and Huggies nappies for night time but as Tricks was toilet training we moved him to Nappy-Pants for a transition period to get him used to the idea of pulling pants up and down. It worked for us because five days in to jocks and he was fully toilet trained and hasn’t looked back. We used them quite late, but they are available from 7kg upwards.

4. Grab a video camera. Look, they’re gonna squirm and it is annoying but chances are they're going to do something adorable and hilarious one of these times so why not film it and submit it to Huggies and win? If you have to put up with it, you may as well be rewarded!

The prizes are amazing - the first 500 people to upload their video receive a pack of Nappy-Pants and each week for nine weeks one entrant will receive a $100 Westfield gift card. But the major prize, the one I will give my left hand for (not the right, it’s my texting hand) is the grand prize, the big kahuna, the wood panelled, steel roofed, PlayCubb Koala Blue Cubby house, delivered and installed in your very own backyard, valued at just under $5000! Related: Tricks and I are available for play dates in said cubby.

And who gets to help decide who wins that awesome cubby? Yours truly! Yep, I'm one of the judges. Because it is about time I judged you and your spawn, right? RIGHT! I'm really looking forward to seeing your gorgeous kiddos do all sorts of hilarious bum shuffling wriggles and from the ones uploaded so far I know it's going to be a bloody tough decision!

For actual information on how to handle your wriggle bum that doesn’t involve gaffa tape or Velcro, you can check out the Huggies website and their tips via the Huggies Facebook page, but for now whip your cameras and get filming and show me ALL TEH CUTE!

*Please don’t do this. I know someone on the internet already did to prove it could be done, so let’s all just take their word for it!

How to be a goddess in the kitchen

This is a C1 post

For full details please see my disclosure policy

So you want to know how to be a goddess in the kitchen? Well from everything I can see in my very limited Googling, a lot of goddesses have multiple arms, so by rights if you got an extra set to say, stir dinner with, then whammo, you’re a goddess.

I’ve been playing with the Jamie Oliver HomeCooker for a while now and my first thought was that it gave me an extra set of hands and ipso facto, am now obviously a goddess.

My second thought was “Myself (am a goddess, so can now say this)! That is one gigantic contraption!”. Yes, the HomeCooker has taken the size matters mantra to heart and does look rather imposing on the bench. If you have the all the steaming baskets and the cutting tower too, it, well, definitely towers.

But most of the time I was just using the main pot and the chopping tower and found the pot a really good size for a big family meal – which in this house translates to meal & then leftovers for lunch.

The cutting tower slices and grates with a range of different blades, but if it was up to me, I’d make the feed for the chopping tower much wider as I even had trouble with some carrots being too thick to fit through it. I thought I was going to snap the rotating disk as I inserted the blades but it turns out it was just me being afraid of breaking my new toy and once I got the hang of it, it took a second to do.

As dinner simmered away I’d come back to check on the meal (OK I admit I also came back to just watch it stir a few times) and other than scraping down the sides once or twice because I’m incapable of leaving anything alone, dinner would be ready without any of the food catching on the bottom and burning. Meaning I had a half hour or so to do a quick tidy up and set the table, play with the Trickster or just SIT DOWN.

In all seriousness, my pain levels have been flaring terribly this pregnancy and standing up to cook dinner at the end of the day is bloody killing me. If something can keep a constant temperature and stir itself while I just have a few minutes of rest then it gets the thumbs up from me. Or perhaps that should be feet up since it is normally how I look when cooking dinner these days.

PROS:

• Great for when you have little ones around your feet wanting cuddles
• Handy if you’re knackered and need to sit down
• Huge 3L bowl
• Goes up to 250 degrees C
• Can cook multiple things at a time with the steaming baskets
• Comes with a Jamie Oliver cookbook full of HomeCooker specific recipes that are amazeballs
• Retractable cord – Philips do this a lot, it helps so much with storage
• Timer with automatic shut off

CONS:

• Cutting tower is quite narrow
• Takes up a lot of bench/cupboard space

Even though I wasn't a fan of the cutting tower, overall I think the HomeCooker is great for when you need to be doing something other than standing over the stove stirring and I can see it coming in to its element when Bobbin is born!

Want to be a goddess in the kitchen too? You can win a Jamie Oliver HomeCooker from Philips by telling me in 25 words or less what you would do with a spare half hour while your HomeCooker stirred dinner for you via the ENTRY FORM HERE. If you don't have a Facebook account and still wish to enter please email me with the subject line "HomeCooker Competition" and include your name, delivery address and answer to the question.

This competition is now closed 

Full terms and conditions here.

I wanna play with your boobs

This is the line I hear at least ten times a day.

Some will be surprised that the words are not uttered by my husband or even a passing pervert, but an almost three year old boy. 

Tricky weaned about two or three months ago. We were down to one very short feed most days but when Bobbin popped on the scene what supply was there dropped right off and every time he fed it would hurt. It felt exactly like feeding newborn Tricks back when I had no real clue what I was doing and lovely case of golden nipples. We returned to cracked nipple central where my toes curled every time he'd ask for milk. Something had to give.

Despite being of the "never offer, never refuse" school of thought for weaning and a supporter of full-term breastfeeding, I started offering milk in a cup more and more. Under my breath I was shouting have-your-milk-in-a-damn-cup-and-leave-my-boobs-alone. It took a week and it was all over red rover. Or red nipples. Whatever.


For thirty-two(ish?) months, my breasts were used as a source of nourishment and comfort. In the later stages they became less about nutrition and, much like the flotation devices they are, more for when the day needed to be saved. Think ass-crack-of-dawn wake ups, the occasional cranky bed time or near-meltdown for a grand total of about five times a week. So basically any time when we all needed some sleep lest we go insane. Hooray for boobies.

Breasts as a source of nourishment... kind of.

These days though? They have transformed (back) in to fun bags.

If my chest is in sight, I hear it. "I wanna play with your boobs". Usually after he has plunged his hand down my top and grabbed a fist full of flesh.

He likes to cuddle them, squeeze them and of course jiggle them. He is obsessed with breasts. And I really hope you said that with the voice of Elaine Benes from Seinfeld.

I don't quite know what to do because we have tried everything we can think of. I had been pegging all my hopes on ignoring it, saying they were not for him any more because he's a big boy, telling him they were for Bobbin now etc.

It would even appear that physically stopping him and redirecting his attention elsewhere has done nothing other than introduce him to the fact that other women also have breasts. Luckily the groping has so far been constrained to family members, but I dread the day when he just lunges at a stranger and attempts to motorboat them.

Nothing has worked so far. Nothing! 

So help me, dear reader, what do I do?  Do I leave it and hope it is just his way of saying so-long to his old pals, or do I put my foot down? If you have any toddler weaning advice for me, my oft grabbed breasts would very much appreciate it.