Friday, 5 October 2012


Keep in mind, as you read this spot of blog, that you will not find any great literary genius here. I had that firmly embedded in me while at high school. I remember towards the end of Year 12 my English teacher asked around the room what we planned to do beyond our secondary years. There were scientists, engineers, nurses, etc in the making and then she got to me. "A Drama teacher," I had said confidently. With an amused raised eyebrow she said condescendingly, "Oh, I see you more of just a stay-at-home-mum type."
When I wasn't accepted into the then Rusden College's Literature and Drama Teaching course (I think I'm showing my age here) I saw that Year 12 English teacher as some kind of prophet. 

Years and years and nappies and bottles of milk later, here I am, a stay-at-home-mum. I did become a teacher, worked in primary schools and as a teacher of the deaf, and became a so-called 'expert' in the acquisition and development of language (take that Mrs English Bitch) and despite the piece of paper with the squished red university stamp I'm here doing time at home with 5 kids and sometimes wondering how the hell I can get an early parole.

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids. I do. But they do my freaking head in. So in order to maintain a degree of sanity I present to you my rantings of a mad woman and the head spinning logics of children who demand I cut their milk.

Me with #5, Scarlett.
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