How to be a BAD parent

Like I’ve said before, it’s very hard to know how you measure up as a parent, and how badly your child rearing techniques are going to scar them life. Then you see pictures like these, and you think phew, at least I’m doing a lot better than some.

Sign your name across my skin

I’ve never really got the fascination with tattoos. It seems to me a very extreme (and permanent) way of expressing how you’re feeling at that exact moment, but doesn’t really take into account how you might feel in years to come. After all, over the course of a lifetime names come and go, ideas and trends change and something that might be considered cute and girly at 18 will probably look downright stupid at 50.

For richer for poorer, till death do us part

Like most people I suspect, the two things that I fear the most are the loss of my children and my husband – losing either would turn my world upside down. The very idea of some terrible happening to my family is something that doesn’t even bear thinking about. Yet I do. Probably far more than is considered rational or even remotely healthy.

Don’t lie to me

Any parent worth their weight in low sodium salt would probably agree that children should be brought knowing it’s wrong to lie. Especially to their parents. But teaching this particular right from wrong can be tricky, especially when trying to push the message home to your child often entails telling a whole range of elaborate and complicated lies to begin with.

There’s no such place as perfection

Lots of people want to know, what’s life in Perth really like? Is it all blue skies, suntan cream and sandy beaches? Is everyone as ‘happy as Bruce’ and do the kangaroos all smile and wave you on your way as you speed off to work your 5 hour day? In a word, and a very short one at that, NO.

Fags, fame and photoshop

So poor old Kerry Katona has been dropped as the ‘face’ of supermarket chain Iceland has she. Poor love, how’s she going to fuel her drug habit now? I feel another stint in The Priory is on the cards for her any day now.

When smelly children need surgery

The first clue that something was where it shouldn’t be was that my son smelt horrible, with a nasty whiff about his person that would come and go. The type of odour that simply refused to budge, even with much vigorous washing and twice daily teeth brushing. It’s hard to say exactly what the smell was even, somewhere between sour milk and a rotting vegetable perhaps. Fairly unpleasant in other words…

Long live the King, the King is dead

Michael Jackson’s death will no doubt go down in history as one of those moments when everyone remembers where they were when they heard – just as when the first man walked on the moon, the Berlin Wall came down, Princess Diana died and 2 planes flew into the Twin Towers.

Planes, trains & watery accidents

It’s always hard to know how your children will react to leaving the ground in a vacuum packed can, and then see the ground disappear beneath the clouds. My son wasn’t amused. At all. Watching the aeroplanes through the terminal window – great fun. Walking down the air-slip onto the plane – not so fun. Sitting in his seat for take off – simply not going to happen.

So what does he call out in a desperate bid for freedom? “Poo Mummy”.

If it’s not broken, don’t fix it

Why is it that some companies just can’t help themselves. First they give you too much choice, flooding your brain impossible decisions. Then they fiddle around with something that already works perfectly fine – and has done for many, many years.