A few of my favourite things

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Winter is well and truly here now, and as I hunker down, straddling the radiator and nestling my head on my slow cooker, I like to gather a few comforting items around me for the frosty season. Here are the treasures I’m rocking this winter:

Jeggings.

I’m starting with a controversial one. Before this winter, my only experience with jeggings was via a good friend* who marks them as the most vile creation of mankind, fit only to attire the devil himself. What they are, in fact, are a cross between leggings and jeans. They look like skinny jeans, but they FEEL like leggings. And I tell you what, I’m all over them like nori on a sushi roll. One of my medium-term goals is to squeeze my buxom self into a pair of skinny jeans, I actually have said skinny jeans in my wardrobe, two pairs in fact, with tags still attached. One pair laughs out loud when it reaches three quarters of the way up my thighs and the other does up with considerable manipulation and leaves me looking like an overfilled double snowcone (on a hot day). So, until I have my desired buns of steel, I shall instead rock incredibly comfortable jeggings, with a longer top as the pretend fly and ‘lakky’ waistband are a dead giveaway. I got mine from Sussans but the ones in the pic are $49 from Target. Asos has a few too, including some kind of fab tie-dye maternity ones.

 

Behold the jegging!

Behold the jegging!

Paraffin manicures

Now, I have only ever had one of these, a couple of days before my wedding, but I tell you what – it was blissful. A lovely young lass slipped my hand into a bag of warm wax and voila – when I pulled my hand out it was miraculously about ten years younger. I nearly wrapped a nappy around that baby butt softness. I draped my silk-like hands over the face of my ‘tell it like it is’ aunty Pam who was amazed I’d never heard of paraffin wax manicures before. She said when she worked at the Eltham Cheese Factory all the girls would stick their hands in the cheese wrapping wax for a bit of a pick-me-up. So there’s the budget version – break into a cheese factory and push aside a wheel of edam.

 

Fancy baby food

Sometimes I feel like a bit of schlep when it comes to feeding my child. I spend approximately half my life making a smorgasboard of food for Bubba’s rejection so to have some nutritious, could easily pass as home-made if you have judgy visitors, meals in the fridge is a time-saver I’m very keen on. Well the celeb chef Luke Mangan very kindly sent Bubba the full range of his new toddler meals – Baby Bites (I’m not sure he personally called the courier but I can dream). Anyway, I tell you what, Bubba wolfed them down like nobody’s business. Every toddler deserves a Chicken paella every now and then don’t they? Really delicious (it’s only responsible to taste-test isn’t it?) and super easy. At the moment it’s only available in Australia from Thomas Dux and other speciality supermarkets.  More info.

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Kosmea facelift cream

Okay, it’s not called facelift cream – but it should be. It’s called Eighth Natural Wonder cream. A friend gave me a bottle of this magic stuff about a month before the wedding and I couldn’t have had better wedding-skin prep. Serums are all the rage now but this one is just fantastic. I ended up shouting myself the cleanser and daily exfoliant from their range too. I also have the ultimate radiance boost, good for me because my skin tends to have the moisture sucked out of it by heating and winter days. Give it a try if you like smooth skin but but botox scares the frozen eyebrows off you. More info. 

Kosmea Eighth Natural Wonder

Kosmea Eighth Natural Wonder

Crochet

Okay, this is my new addiction. And yes, yes, yes, I know that you’re jealous of my rock n roll lifestyle and crazy, crazy party nights. But crochet is supercool now, I even have a book called ‘hip crochet.’ And pinterest doesn’t lie. There’s a Japanese style of crochet called Amugurumi that is currently well above my skill set and is about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. So far I’ve completed a baby blanket and one granny square. I’m kind of on fire.

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And to add to the list – soy hot chocolate, flannel pjs, the Viking’s cinammon buns (not a nickname – he’s more of a french vanilla bun actually) and Samantha Wills jewellery.

 

What about you? What have you turned to for comfort on these cold winter days? Have you rocked a pair of jeggings yet?

 

*my friend who hates jeggings first discovered her disgust for them while living in England. She’d been tempted to the motherland from New Zealand by her cricket playing husband who’d been headhunted by a cricket team. They went off with lofty ideas of a delightful village and were instead welcomed into the unofficial teenage pregnancy capital of the world, where 30 year old grandmas chain-smoked at playgrounds, screeching on their bedazzled phones, flicking their fake nails and wearing their jeggings. On the plus side, the village pub was called The Cock which provided many creative options for hilarious photographs.

It rained on my wedding day and I didn’t crack the shits

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We got married. No lies. I actually, really, honestly tricked someone into promising to spend the rest of his life with me. Mwahahaha! I am now a newlywed, well we’ve been married for about a month now, does that still make me a newlywed? When does the label wear off? Jessica Simpson milked being a newlywed for at least three seasons didn’t she? Until she realised that you don’t get everyone in the boyband when you just marry one, and coordinated dance moves don’t work in solo performances – it’s just a sad guy in a white suit twirling around and pointing vaguely.

Anyway! The wedding. It was awesome, but of course I’d say that. It might not have been awesome though, because the Queensland weather gods are a fickle bunch of pre-menstrual storm-throwers who decided that even though we (when I say ‘we’ I mean ‘I’, I’m just trying to be more inclusive now that I’m married) had chosen the location of Daydream Island based solely on the stunning outdoor ceremony venue it would hose it down forcing us to choose an indoor venue. And I’m proud to say, I took it on the chin (I also took a large glass of champagne on the chin immediately after the ‘no beach wedding for you’ news was given) and said but one heated swearword. My mother was in the room and her stink-eye would silence the grouchiest bridezilla.

And then I moved on to bigger things. Mainly hair and make-up and more champagne. Wedding coordinators are savvy people nowadays, my own coordinator Ashley (I feel trés Hollywood when I say I had a ‘coordinator’) delivered the bad news before I had a face full of slap on. Ashley – who was lovely but a little disappointingly nothing like Frunk off ‘Father of the Bride’) said that he has seen some bridal meltdowns of colossal proportions and thought my immediate swigging of champagne was an incredibly restrained response. I said he should do a youtube mash-up of bridal breakdowns and watch it go viral in seconds.

So we got married in the chapel on the island. That’s right, the woman with no set religion but with strong beliefs in anything that comes from the mouth of Oprah, Barack Obama and – to a lesser degree – the baby whispering woman who wrote ‘Save our sleep,’ got married in a little chapel on a tropical island. But it was perfect. I had been willing to get rained on to keep my dream of a beach wedding but as Ashley pointed out, the decking over the beach was a bit like a slippery slide and babies and middle-aged relos skittling down the boards may not make for happy memories.

The wedding itself was emotional. I had been prepared for tears, especially from my side. Kiwis and booze generally equals singing, drunken hakas and happy bawling, in the case of my father it is resulted in at least 25 rounds of ‘ten guitars’ and much, much back-slapping and some weird version of ‘Steph’s wedding’s got talent’ where he tried to search out the best voice in the place. Pretty sure he awarded it to himself after declining an audience vote though. So there were tears, many tears. Our daughter decided it was best if she was being held by either the Viking or I during the whole ceremony, which was fine and made for some adorable photos, a little tricky when we were trying to slip rings on but nothing we couldn’t handle.

The reception was fantastic, it had everything I hoped for. Possibly the world’s best playlist that had everyone dancing, good food, speeches that left everyone with happy tears streaming, mucho good food and free-flowing wine, speeches in Norwegian, speeches in Maori, singing, honest attempts at a backspin (unfortunately even with the help of a ‘foot swinger’ this turtle wasn’t spinning) and I got to pash the Viking all night long without being told off for PDA. I’m not sure it gets much better than that.

There are ups and downs with having a destination wedding, the thing for us is that we come from different sides of the world, so no matter where we got hitched it would have been a ‘destination wedding’ for some. The ups with being on a small island was that everyone got to know each other really well, we all saw each other all the time. Our Hens and Bucks nights turned into a big joint dinner with everyone together and it was great. Daydream Island was beautiful but meant for families, more cheesy cruise ship than elegant resort but it suited us well, Bubba got to wake up and look at kangaroos out the window and the day spa was out of this world. I could have spent the week at the day spa, trussed up in a mud wrap having jets of water spritzed up my waazoo happy as a pig in muck. But getting married was awesome too.

So here’s the proof – the proof that professional hair and make-up people, a good deal of champagne and one of my closest childhood friends as our photographer equals photos I will happily share for years to come.

All photos are taken by the fabulous Tammie Pittwood of Tammie Pittwood Photography. You can like her page on Facebook here.

Hurry up wife! There's a friggen buffet for dinner!

Hurry up wife! There’s a friggen buffet for dinner!

 

Tammie cleverly found a gorgeous wharf for us to canoodle under

Tammie cleverly found a gorgeous wharf for us to canoodle under

 

Bubba - stealing the show

Bubba – stealing the show

 

It’s Pre-Nup time!

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This week I’ve read some fabulous articles about differences, my favourite blogger Mrs Woog wrote about her beautiful son Jack for the latest Australian Women’s Weekly – you can read that here, and I found a new blogger to follow on Scary Mommy who wrote about raising kids who look different from each other – a situation very close to my own heart. But, amidst this beautiful writing, I thought it time to celebrate the differences that my impeding marriage will bring together – the legal union of a Norwegian and a New Zealander. And what spells romance and cultural sensitivity better than a *kinda* legal document?

May I present:

The binding pre-nuptial contract between the Viking and Steph – Sassmouth Mama.

I, Steph (otherwise known as Sassmouth Mama, the ‘wife’, m’lady or herky jerky dancer) do hereby solemnly swear to do the following:

  • Nod sympathetically at the lack of television coverage of the winter Olympics in the Southern Hemisphere
  • Refrain from telling unsuspecting strangers that Norway is the capital of Sweden
  • One day, perhaps many, many years from now, learn to cross-country ski
  • Never suggest that drinking strong black coffee at 10pm is a bad idea
  • Concede that is does make sense for the plural of sheep to be ‘sheeps’ and allow ‘the husband’ to use this word without ongoing mockery
  • Learn the Norwegian National Anthem, or, at the very least, adequately perform the high bit of Aha’s Take on Me
  • Learn to make authentic waffles and investigate options for importing brown cheese into Australia

I, the Viking (otherwise known as the ‘husband,’ Big Sexy or Pooh Bear Wallah) do hereby solemnly swear to do the following:

  • Insist that all movies with beautiful scenery were ‘probably filmed in New Zealand’ – regardless of what the credits say
  • Call pieces of rubber affixed to one’s foot by a v-shaped strap ‘jandals’ and nothing else
  • Never, ever, ever make any sort of joke during the Haka. The appropriate reaction is a single manly tear whenever the Haka is performed.
  • Watch at least one game of rugby with the father-in-law each season. Hot pie with sauce and thermos of coffee optional.
  • Learn the words to Poi E, or if this proves too difficult – OMC’s ‘How Bizarre’ will suffice.
  • Learn how to make whitebait fritters like ‘the wife’s’ Mum
  • Make appropriate hilarious Flight of the Conchords references like ‘it’s business time’ and ‘there’s too many dicks on the dance floor’

Rightio, that’s that sorted then. What about you? What was the give and take to make your married/committed life paradise tolerable?

What to do when your wedding bleeds you dry

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Weddings cost a lot of money. There is no going past it, unless you elope, and even then you’ll need to pay for your carry-on luggage if you fly budget airlines.

Two weeks out from our wedding I feel like I’m neck-deep in finer details and hireage costs, many of which have provided a scary learning curve in the experience of being charged at by a wounded bull. There is money to be made in weddings, sweet, sweet mula and with everyone now hankering for a Pinterest-worthy wedding, we’re willing to pay for it. But today, taking a break from seating plans and bonbonierre stuffing, I went and got my hair done and felt so much better afterwards – not because I love the do (which I do) but because the hairdresser is planning his own wedding and let me in on his own “you want to charge me for WHAT?” moments as he plans his big day. And nothing makes me feel better about spending up large then knowing that someone else is spending up a lot larger.

We’re having a very small wedding, there’ll be around 40 people chillaxing around the buffet. My hairdresser is having 250 people. He told us that he priced a church (not the one he’s booked) that wanted to charge to hire the venue, for the services of the priest, for the choir and for the organ player. He said he nodded along until they said “and if you want the bells to ring as you leave the church, it costs $250 per ding.” You would want to ensure you had a steady-handed bellringer, one with the shakes could cost you the house.

Although we’re still holding on to dreams of Lenny Kravitz playing at the wedding, we have a back-up killer playlist that promises to unleash the inner Beyoncé in everyone. The price of which was a mere “pretty please” to my rock goddess bridesmaid and, no doubt, a Kiwi – Norwegian dance-off later in the evening. My hairdresser and his beloved have a favourite song sung by an Aussie legend so they thought they’d price getting him to sing at their reception. “No worries,” said his agent “he could do three songs for you for a cool quarter of a mill.” Shut. The. Front. Door. Three songs, yes he’s an Aussie legend but he ain’t no Lady Gaga selling out every stadium across the world. Let’s just say, he had a voice, but my hairdresser will no longer try to understand it.

So it got me thinking, how much are some people willing to fork out for one day? And here’s what I found:

Kate and Wills – $34 million, kind of thrifty compared to the $110 million (incorporating inflation) Charles and Di splurged on their nuptials.

Liza Minnelli and David Gest – $3.5 million (the cake cost a reported $40,000)

It's always a worry when Michael Jackson is the most normal-looking person in the photo

It’s always a worry when Michael Jackson is the most normal-looking person in the photo

Vanisha Mittal and Amit Bhatia – $60 million. The bride is the daughter of a billionaire steel-magnate and the groom is the owner of an investments company. According to Business Insider Australia:

“The wedding featured invitations mailed in silver boxes, including plane tickets and rooms at a five-star Paris hotel. Five-day festivities at a 16th-century chateau and Versailles and a temporary wooden castle. Performances by Kylie Minogue, complementary Mouton Rothschild, and designer gift bags filled with jewels.”

A temporary wooden castle? I knew I’d forgotten something! I don’t even know what Mouton Rothschild is – but google tells me it’s wine that costs upwards of $1300 per bottle.

So if you are freaking out at forking out for churchbell dings, goldleaf napkins and gift bags stuffed with champagne, spider monkeys and Prince Harry’s lucky casino chips, do yourself a favour – find someone who is spending three times the amount that you are and pour them a big glass of wine – they need it.

 

What about you? What’s the most audacious wedding charge you’ve heard of? Did you splurge on something special? Was it worth it?

 

We have a wedding dress winner!

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Oh joyful day! It might be pelting down outside, the dog might be in full-clingy ‘I will not stray from that space directly in front of your feet that you want to step forward into’ mode, the baby might be cutting about 13 teeth all at once but all I feel is relief, happiness and, well massive sinus issues but that is just standard.

So, after failing to purchase a fitting, non-maternity-wear-looking bridal gown on the supercheap from China, I opted for a gorgeous dress from an Aussie supplier. It was still on the cheap by wedding standards but, unlike the Chinese numbers, did not come inside-out and crammed into a courier bag. Call me precious, but I like a little tissue paper around my wedding dress. I don’t want to spend five minutes undoing the zip and flipping it out the right way. I want that Pretty Woman moment when you open the box, unwrap the paper and reveal the beautiful bodice. Okay, I’ve reread that and you can definitely call me Princess Precious – it’s my nod to Bridezilladom.

But even this morning’s delivery wasn’t without some drama. The dress arrived ten minutes before the Viking had to leave for work, so I seized the opportunity to try it out without a toddler and a dog pulling at the hem. The only issue was, I managed to get stuck inside the dress because I didn’t pull the zip down far enough. I stood for 3 or 4 minutes, arms above head, face poking out for air but unable to pull the bodice over my chest. It was an incredibly graceful moment. The Viking is a bit traditional and does not want to see the dress. I am a bit less traditional when faced with the prospect of living the next 3 weeks stuck halfway in my wedding dress. I called him down.

“I’m closing my eyes!” he said as I heard him walk into the hallway wall.

“It’s alright, I’ve put a hoodie on!” I’d managed to find yesterday’s zip-up hoodie, worn for the morning walk atop the laundry mountain in the bathroom and somehow thrown it over the top. The Viking wasn’t risking it though and kept his eyes shut, feeling around for the zip and freeing me. By this stage of course the dog was breathing heavy dog breath on me and Bubba was playing with the floaty fabric.

But as the zip came down, the heavens opened and light shone straight into the bathroom and the dress fitted like a glove. The Viking retreated, blindly calling the kids with him.

Oh the relief! There’s a reason why women get helped into wedding dresses on all those TV programs – they’re a struggle.

I fully intend to share the wedding dress details after the big day but if you’re keen to look around the site the dress came from please do. White Runway is the website (they’re Aussie-based but deliver internationally). The dress arrived in three days, beautifully boxed and I think the dress is even more beautiful than the photos show. If I was going to do it all over again, (don’t get the wrong idea if you read this Honey) I would get the bridesmaid dresses from here too.

And in other fantastic news, my homeland has passed a marriage equality bill recognising same-sex marriages. Go New Zealand! I’m so proud to be from a country that recognises that love is love, whether it’s between a man and a woman or a woman and a woman, or a man and a man. Love is love! I’ve been happy-crying my way through facebook updates today. A close friend of mine, a woman in her early forties who has been out and proud for years and years posted “holding my head a bit higher today.”

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This is such a wonderful move for New Zealand, but even as a proud Kiwi I’ve got to admit – it’s about bloody time! We were the first to give women the vote in 1893, the first in the WORLD and we’ve taken a long time to recognise same-sex marriage. As the Viking is quick to point out, same-sex marriage has been legal in Norway for years. But at least we beat the Aussies!

Wedding season in New Zealand is going to go off the charts. If you need an bargain websites to get your gear from, drop me a bell.

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Watch the moment in New Zealand parliament when the marriage equality bill was passed.

 

The buck’s night that wasn’t and the hen’s day that was

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The Viking decided he wouldn’t have a buck’s night before we go away for the wedding. He’ll have a boys’ night prior to the big day but, unlike me, didn’t want a Melbourne-based knees up. Now, when you’re in a relationship, you need a bit of to and fro when it comes to ‘passes out’ for the evening, so I was concerned that I would get let off Mama-duties for a Hen’s but he would have the upper hand in future negotiations by not having a Buck’s.

Fortunately, some after-work drinks came up at the Viking’s office. “I might go for one or two,” he said, “to be polite.”

“Of course Honey! Go! Enjoy! Have a great time!” I enthused, hoping to even the score.

“Oh I won’t be late, I’ll pick some dinner up on my way home.” he assured me, no doubt concocting the huge advantage he would have when it came to his next application for leave from parental duties.

I worked my double-shift on Friday, cooing Bubba to sleep and settling in for a couple of hours to myself before the Viking appeared. But he did not.

“Having a nice time here. Not drinking too much but good to be out. Might stay a bit longer. Not really drinking though” the text read.

My suspicions were aroused.

At 10pm I texted to let him know I was going to sleep and to try not to rattle the gate and wake the dog up when he got home.

At 1pm, after a few rounds of tequilas and various other ‘not really drinking drinks’ the Viking rocked up to the door, setting the dog alarm off at level 10 and stood on the doorstep until I let him in. In a haze myself, and not keen to wake myself fully by engaging in conversation I said hello and leant in for a kiss. We have kissed before, the Viking and I, and generally we are pretty spot on with leaning in pecking on the lips without the need for GPS and giant bulls-eyes painted around our mouths. Not on this occasion. He stumbled forward and I got a tasty mouthful of ale-flavoured bearded chin.

We went to bed. Within approximately 2.5 seconds the Viking was asleep. However I thought he was awake and in great pain due to the rumbling coming from deep within his sinuses. I checked. He was out cold.

Eventually I went back to sleep. Until I was woken, at about 5am by the Viking rattling the wardrobe doors. I immediately recalled the many, many stories of boozy fellas mistaking underwear drawers for urinals and said:

“Stop! You’re not peeing in the wardrobe are you?!”

He looked at me as though I was the silliest little girl he had ever seen and said “no Honey! I’m selling!” And then, having momentarily forgotten that he is fluent in English he said: “what’s the word for ‘factory’?”

“Factory?”

“Yes! I’m at the factory! Selling closet doors! And fabric, like these things, what do you call these things?” He came and grabbed the bedding.

“Sheets?”

“Yes! I’m selling sheets and doors!”

“Fabulous. Get back to bed.”

He wasn’t sleep-walking, his eyes were open and he remembered everything in the morning. And I prepared for a Hen’s day with my gorgeous Melbourne girls in full knowledge that unless I woke at 3 trying to flog off the fenceposts I definitely had more points in the brownie bank.

We had a lovely time. I had specified only that I would not wear a veil or drink from a penis straw (which disappointed some) and that I had had a terrifying encounter with a stripper before (I can no longer catch a glimpse of a yellow g-string without breaking out in hives) and had no intention of coming that close to one again – (Channing Tatum is the exception to that rule but I felt I was on safe ground given he rarely does Hen’s entertainment anymore).

I like my nature with a serve of lovely wine and flushing toilets

Good friends and the kind of nature I like – served with lovely wine and equipped with flushing toilets

I was whisked off in a party-wagon, driven by one of my two very pregnant, gorgeous friends. I must say, having a pregnant friend organise your Hen’s is always a good plan – she drives, she organises and she ensures that the food is plentiful and delicious, perfect. We went to T’Gallant Winery and enjoyed a sophisticated lunch overlooking stunning scenery and telling the kinds of stories many men suspect women tell when they get together. It was fabulous. Not a veil or plastic appendage as far as the eye could see and I couldn’t be happier. Spoilt with local Rosé, flowers, jewellery, stunning wine glasses and good, good times. I couldn’t ask for much more.

And, having shared my lack-of-dress situation, I now have an army of determined girlfriends helping me hunt down the perfect frock. Last night a gorgeous selection from non-sweat-shop websites arrived in my inbox, and tomorrow I’m heading north to tread the wedding dress high streets with two of the girls. I have faith! They say it takes a village to raise a baby, well I think it takes a sisterhood to find a wedding dress.

I’ll keep you posted.

Has anyone else evened the score with their significant other after they extended their day-pass? How much can you get for a closet door and used bedsheets nowadays?

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Four weeks of singledom left

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Four weeks from today I will be getting married to the Viking. I will be Mrs Viking, although I’m keeping my own name, so I guess I’ll remain Ms Fair-skinned-part-Maori-New-Zealander-living-in-Australia, it’s just so much easier that way.

Leading up to the public declaration of our devotion you may think I’ve been out living up my last ‘single’ days, kicking my heels up with the girls, knocking back the champers like an heiress. You’d be wrong. Very wrong. I’ve been living up these days with the odd Aquapilates session, where I pride myself on being, on average, 30 years younger than the other attendees. I’ve been stressing, ever so slightly, about the lack of a wedding dress four weeks out from the big day – I’m not staying awake thinking about it but I have rethought my ‘buy everything cheap from China’ approach to wedding planning. (The dress did arrive but was modelled on a 6 foot Barbie doll with a nipped in waist and hooters like 40 gallon drums). Oh, and I’ve been chasing around my surprisingly quick toddler, who has somehow gone from a baby to a proper little girl overnight.

Apart from the ill-fitting wedding dress, life is good. I’ve started working for an amazing woman who I randomly got in touch with and ended up meeting at one of her workshops. My new boss, Kylie Ryan, is a motivational coach, like Tony Robbins but far prettier and a bit shorter, and she helps women figure out why they struggle with their weight. I was put on to Kylie because she wanted to talk to a bride-to-be who was trying to lose weight for the wedding, we got on so well during our phone conversation that she invited me along to her seminar in Melbourne and after that I kind of nagged and nagged her until she let me work with her.

I love what Kylie does, it all makes sense to me. Dieting doesn’t work, not in the long-term, if you’ve ever done more than one diet you already know that, so she helps women figure out why they are making themselves overweight and shows them how to change that – forever. I’m not trying to spin you a marketing story here, I’m just truly really enthusiastic about what she does and about empowering women to stop beating themselves up because they don’t have Giselle’s thighs or Jen Hawkins’ stomach.

When you think about it, successful people have motivational coaches – elite athletes, top business people, clued-up celebs, why shouldn’t everyday people who have different but equally as valid issues? Kylie is going to do some coaching with me and I’m excited but a bit freaked out too, she’s warned me to have tissues on standby. I’m ready. I just don’t want my daughter to spend as much of her youth worrying about her weight as I did so I need to learn how to stop worrying myself. Stat.

If you’re interested in reading about some of the women who Kylie has helped or finding out a bit more you can go to the website: My Mind Coach

Should I be more worried about the dress dilemma or have you got a happy last minute wedding dress experience? Have you ever had any motivational coaching? Did Tony Robbins get you to walk on fire?

 

Will Lenny Kravitz play my wedding?

Many, many moons ago, in a land far, far away – called London, I had a job reviewing concerts, clubs and restaurants for a magazine. If it sounds like I’m bragging, I kind of am – it was absolutely the best job I’ve ever had – even if the pay was just live music and free CDs. Best. Job. Ever.

A highlight of this job was the time I got to review a Lenny Kravitz concert and fronted up only to be put in the VIP section, sitting behind half of the cast of Eastenders. It’s hard to look cool and aloof when you cannot close your mouth long enough to swallow the drool making its way down your chin.  [Read more…]

Bargainzilla

I am in the midst of planning my wedding – or “our wedding” as the Viking says. It’s only about three months away now so we’re getting into the nitty gritty of wedding-prep. Who knew there was so much detail involved in planning a wedding? Not I. Looking back, the day is going to be markedly different to how we first imagined it.

We had originally decided to get married in Thailand. The “out-loud” rationale was that it’s pretty much half-way between Norway and New Zealand, so equally arduous for travelling guests. The actual reason we wanted Thailand was that I had read that you could hire a baby elephant to attend the ceremony, and I thought – double-win! We are both big elephant fans and, for the photos, how can a bride not look Kate Moss thin when posing next to an elephant? And it’s a baby, so I’d look tall and thin – like Giselle. Yes, I wanted to get married in Thailand so I could have a Giselle-draped-over-an-elephant bridal portrait.

"Where the hell's the elephant?"

“Where the hell’s the elephant?”

[Read more…]

Facebook likey likey

Nowadays every man and his blog has a business facebook page. What’s that you say? Yes, Sassmouth Mama does have its own page actually. Hmmm? Yes, it’s been stuck on 69 likes for quite some time now, and yes, it is an awkward number to stall at.

*silence*

*audible blink*

Anyway my friends, there are a great range of Facebook pages – some are very good, informative and spice up your newsfeed nicely. There are others that spam the crazy out of you and do the equivalent of the new tweeters daily “morning tweeps!” tweet. [Read more…]