A truly scary soccer mum!

Today I was kicking a football. This is not that normal for me, growing up I wasn't some undiscovered football talent, more a shiny lycra-clad jazz ballet student, the tightness of which once had me banned from liturgical dance (I know... it takes a lot to share that, be kind). 

But the last two weekends I kicked one back and forth between my five and six year olds and my hubby. And each session I kicked at least one of them in the guts. No I am not a psychopath masquerading as a mother of two, I am seemingly just an effing good shot. And I love it. I love the feeling as you look before you kick, it reminds me of playing pool when you get in the zone, but it's more accurate cause you don't have a 4 foot piece of wood between your body and your brain. 

So here I am kicking away, hubby saying "go easy" or "that was too high to count for a goal" as I belt it around a field loving myself silly. Loving it most of all because I married Mr "I played cricket with Brett Lee" and "my golf handicap is 6", while all I can lay claim to is almost injuring our 6 year old by kicking the ball so accurately that I still managed to knock him off his feet while he was mid air. Luckily he landed such that only his knee was slightly hurt, what I can I say...I have a killer right foot, and my hubby is basically jealous that he couldn't hit the target, ie. Me from 20m out. And let's be real, there was some serious intention there and he still missed! I, on the other hand, am mortified at hurting the little people but seem to not be able to control my aim. Although when hubby was the target mortification turned to glee, his hand eye co-ordination was all that saved him, but not every time. Score!

Seriously, for a second though, running around with three boys was so fun and I reckon we'll end up doing it most weekends, even if it's just for me to get a chance to smash hubby in the head with something hard that won't kill him. Beats the iPad, getting out and about with the little people and an inflated piece of leather, kicks the shite out of screen time. Do it peeps, do some rolling around in the grass screaming and holding your shins, or preferably cause someone else to, I highly recommend it. Nx 

Him getting me back... 

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Hand me the tissues! #theBacheloretteAU tearjerker

Wow, ok so I have written about the Bachelor franchise once before when I was so relieved Tim "Bryll cream" Robards chose a real person with some level of substance over what could only be called a walking plastic mannequin. Although the next series had some interest with Laurina "self awareness of a knat" Fleure, and her infamous #dirtystreetpie moment in the limelight, Blake's inexplicable weirdness meant it never made it to this hallowed place. Even gorgeous Sam, from earlier this year although the most intelligent and normal of the Bachelors so far, didn't grab my heart. But that little closet bogan with the same name, that fell for that weirdo Blake, has seemingly won the hearts of more than one guy tonight, even Osher's hair seemed to soften.

The difference between this first Bachelorette series in Australia and the three preceding Bachelor series was being able to witness for the first time what some describe as love at first sight. She literally melted when she met Sasha and their first kiss was insanely sexy - and I've been married 10 years, I know what I'm missing. He kissed her with pure lust, no awkwardness, no second guessing, all in. It was natural and as real as two people with six cameras on their every move, can be. 

So as Sam shook out her fears in her final speech, and choked up as she explained she couldn't understand why she had been hurt so many times ... until she met him, and then it all became clear that she had been waiting her whole life to meet him and f#*k it, I melted then too and forgot about the cheesy mermaid dress, the constant need to travel by air effing everywhere, the thickness of so many that have graced the rooms of the classless, over-dressed waterfront mansions, the banal date surprise speeches - I did all this for... xyz, when we know there is an overworked and underpaid production team shipping in a multitude of plush 2-seaters into places that sofas are just not meant to be. And the constant cheese platters that dont get touched because dairy...doh! Sam's speech, Sasha's "I want to jump your bones this instant"-ness, brought not one, but two tears to my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. 

It seems living with a male that rarely speaks unless yelling at a sporting match, four forceps, many stitches, and many more sleepless nights have not cured this romantic heart. Whatever happens now doesn't really matter because for that moment those two people fell into eacho ther seamlessly and it was a beautiful thing to witness and when I read the truth beyond that moment tomorrow - maybe I will feel foolish, but maybe just maybe, there is love at first sight and I'm really hoping those two make the most of that. 

Go Sam and the best on-screen kisser I've ever seen - Sash! xxx

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My True Social Club

It's been a while since I've been to a local live gig. Pre-minipeople I was a regular at the Annandale, the gaelic club, the Hopetoun and my local The Hollywood. I tried relaying my satisfaction tonight at being in a place that reminded me of the venues of old as I surveyed the surroundings and the felt-hatted clientele of the Newtown Social Club. My 20-something team members looked down at me (somehow I have hired two girls that are both over 6ft) blankly as I reminisced having not heard of any of the classic venues I mentioned. But there I was loving the black everywhere, the eclectic and fascinating crowd, the friendliness that you never find east of the city and I know that even though I'm not the young carefree single swaying into the eyes of the lead singer _ i am at home in beards, pink hair, tattoos, Fedoras and freaks. They are my people, their weirdness is their beauty, their open hearts irresistible, and their creativity their ticket to never a dull moment. Thank you #RollingStoneLiveLodge and gorgeous #Pandora girls for dragging me out of mummyland into the beautiful black filled with the music that is our lives...

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Lover you should have come over - dedicated to Jeff Buckley

18 years ago today I woke to find the only musician that still adorned my walls had died. Music transcends time and it seems like yesterday his flowing, blood-driven voice wrapped itself around my open heart.

I was a backpacker just settled into my first share house in London, my room not much larger than a walk-in robe, lit up with his beauty. At work that day I mourned in isolation, as the middle-class English girls had no clue who I was talking about. Luckily the music journos of the day did and every major newspaper in London had full page spreads set aside telling of the untimely loss of Jeff Buckley. 

Like so many that felt as though he had let them inside his soul, we cried at what we would no longer feel. Without him serenading us, understanding the depths of our heart, it would ache restlessly. We cried because we felt his pain, we knew he'd been abandoned by his father, Tim Buckley, who's own death at 28 meant they never knew each other and met only once for fifteen minutes. We knew his depth threatened to engulf him and fame overwhelm, but we never imagined that he would drown, we all thought he would float and keep singing. 

He will always be my dream brother, and the lines in my head will remain for him, from him.

"So I'll wait for you and I'll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return

Oh, will I ever learn?

Oh, lover, you should have come over

'Cause it's not too late"

Jeff Buckley
November 17, 1966 - May 29, 1997

 

Listen to him here pdora.co/JeffBuckley or to the live interview and performance below

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