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I’m reading Amanda Palmer’s book “The Art of Asking” (love her, loving the book, will write more when I finish it) and this is how the book starts. “Who’s got a tampon? I just got my period, I will loudly announce to nobody in particular in a women’s bathroom in a San Francisco restaurant, or to a co-ed dressing room of a music festival in Prague, or to the unsuspecting gatherers in a kitchen at a party in Sydney, Munich or Cincinnati. “Invariably, across the world, I have seen and heard the rustling of female hands through backpacks and purses, until the triumphant moment when a stranger fishes one out with a kind smile. No money is ever exchanged. The unspoken universal understanding is: “Today, it is my turn to take the tampon. “Tomorrow it shall be yours. “There is a constant, karmic tampon circle. It also exists, I’ve found, with Kleenex, cigarettes, and ballpoint pens. “I’ve often wondered: are there women who are just TOO embarrassed to ask? Women who would rather just roll up a huge wad of toilet paper into their underwear rather than dare to ask a room full of strangers for a favor? There must be. But not me. Hell no. I am totally not afraid to ask. For anything. “I am SHAMELESS.” Now firstly – how’s that for a cracking start for a brand new book? I am totally hooked. But equally, she instantly challenged me, because Amanda darling, I am one of those people who never ask. I have not, and will not, ever ask a room full of strangers for a tampon. Rather than being a ‘wadder’ though, I prefer to focus on always being prepared – all month long – so I never EVER get caught out. Preparation in Asia is also critical, because many countries in this region do not embrace the tampon, preferring external options instead. But it’s not that I have a problem being asked for a tampon or sharing the goods with a woman in need. It’s not even that I’m embarrassed to ask. It’s just that I don’t like to make a public hoo-hah about being on the ‘blob’. Being ‘up on the blocks’ is my personal torment and I’m just not a sharer of that. I’d also generally prefer not knowing when others are experiencing the same. I don’t know why I feel this way. Is it part of my Catholic heritage with all of that shame and guilt about the body? Is it the way my mother handled the puberty years (not very well, a lot of embarrassment for me)? Or perhaps the fact I HATED the whole “becoming a woman” shite in my teenage years and despised how people stopped seeing me and started seeing my tits? I didn’t find it easy ‘coming of age,’ going from a runty 12 year old body to a set of DD cup chest puppies. Too much attention came with that. Attention I didn’t want and wasn’t ready for. It took me a long time to get comfortable with the whole woman thing, but I’ve always admired women who grew into their bodies completely comfortably. That’s brilliant, and I wish it could be me, but it’s not. It’s probably also the reason I’ve always surrounded myself with women who are like that, because I love and admire them. But getting back to being ‘on the blob.’ Most people around me growing up in Australia were probably quite similar to me and I don’t remember a lot of talking about “that time of the month.” Then again, maybe they just knew not to talk about it in front of me? Then I moved to London, and in the early weeks of my four-plus-year stint, a woman came out of the toilet and said “I’m on.” I replied “you’re on what?” “You know, I’m on.” Still blank here love. But quickly worked out “I’m on” can be loosely translated as: “I’m up on the blocks” – husband favorite “I’ve got my rags” – Albury / Wodonga, Victoria, Australia terminology “The painters are in” – another husband favorite “Flying the Japanese flag” – no one in particular “The red tide has arrived” – yep another hubby fav. He’s awesome with women’s stuff and buys my tampons happily, annoyingly always the correct ones too “Aunt Flo has arrived” – used by others, but never me Care to share your favorite descriptor in the comments? (BTW if you’re interested in a mildly amusing tampon ad, the Russians did a pretty good job here. The lady in white is always better prepared at period time right?) I have to say, of all the places I’ve been in the world, it is the British women that come up trumps for being the crassest bitches on the planet. Crass in a marvellous way, and I discovered I paled into insignificance alongside British ladies. That was a surprise for me, due to the British reputation for being demure, and because I did have a reputation for being a crass bitch myself… but never when it came to ‘lady stuff.’ I had my limits. For whatever reason, I’m just not one of those “sharing the sisterhood moments” kind of girl. My mate Lorna asked me to watch her birth video. “Fuck off. Why the hell would I want to watch that? You think that will encourage me to have one myself?” I also couldn’t think of anything worse than having a gaggle of gal-pals present during my two birth moments, and my mum especially was not welcome. My husband was there, but only at the top-end first time round. Second time he actually delivered Jax. I got over myself a bit by that point. There’s a video somewhere – couldn’t find it – where one of the ladies in the Dixie Chicks is giving birth and the whole band is in the room. I loved them for that, but it is never, ever my bag. I often

For the first time EVER, our friend Felicia (who met our treasures for the first time on the weekend) said: “your children are a credit to you.” Yep, someone has said that. Out loud. And there were witnesses and everything. Our reaction? Shock first. Then we looked at each other, wide-eyed and burst out laughing. Seriously? Our little buggers? You’re actually talking about those two guys, the boys over there sitting on top of the spa, eating chips and getting them everywhere, the ones about to throw rocks off the balcony if we don’t get there first, those two dudes working out in the outdoor gym – the gym exclusively for adults, those maniacs getting filthy, dropping the occasional F-bomb in a context they heard on a ‘children’s’ video on YouTube? Those two? Really? The outdoor gym at a wedding – perfect distraction Someone finally thinks they’re um… well… good! Well behaved even. AWESOME!! We couldn’t believe it, but secretly we’re both thrilled, because they are a credit to us. They’re awesome. Annoying pains in the arse absolutely. But they are completely awesome, and funny, so bloody funny. My word. The challenge is we don’t want them to be “good.” I hate it when they say to me “but we just want to be good mum.” I always say: you are good mate, but sometimes you don’t make good decisions, that’s a different thing. There’s no good or bad darling. We all make bad decisions. This good/bad malarkey doesn’t sit well with me at all. But I really don’t want my boys to be good. I want them to be marvelous. Courageous. Ambitious in whatever way that emerges. Curious. Funny. Irreverent. Silly. Adventurous. Expressive. Emotionally intelligent. And a whole lot more. More than anything, though, I want them to be happy. We had another little accolade this week. Lex came home with the pictured star, an award for being obedient. OBEDIENT? I look at Steve and recognize that at this moment, all this mother is required to do is give her son an enthusiastic high five for his achievement. But an award for obedience – yuk! I don’t like that at all. My children ARE NOT obedient and good on them for that. I want them to challenge everything, especially me. I don’t have it all right, I don’t have all the answers, because no one does. So teachers, give my boys awards, but you can keep the obedient star in future OK? Anyone with me here? What’s the “worst” award you’ve seen, even if others think it’s a “good” thing? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

About a month ago, Steve had a nightmare that Jax fell off something very high and then he woke up. After sharing that little horror with me, I started having similar dreams. Heights and I aren’t friends. At the age of 25, crossing a log in Nepal over a creek (it wasn’t even high), I seized up in the middle, terrified and that was it, I’ve had a shocking thing with heights ever since. It’s been a pain in the arse, because before that, I was a cliff-climbing, bridge-jumping lunatic. The glass lift to Marble Mountain, Vietnam Today, being up high can give me vertigo – whether it’s standing on a balcony in a skyscraper, or climbing the steps to a water-slide in Bali – I am a mess. If I think about crossing the string bridges on the Annapurna trek in Nepal now (which I did before the log incidence) it leaves me gasping for breath as I try to go to sleep. So with this inherited nightmare, I was convinced something terrible was going to happen when we were in Vietnam. It got off to a great start in the first week in Halong Bay. We were having a night swim and Jax thought it would be a good idea to run around the slippery edge of an infinity pool with a two story drop the other side. Steve and I screamed in unison: “get in the bloody pool mate and don’t do that again!” Jax got the message. I didn’t sleep well that night. Anxiety dreams filled my head as the rest of the family snored in peace. However, I was hoping that the dreams would go now. The first week was done, with no falls, so perhaps I could relax a little? Not likely. I got him, don’t worry love As we were driving from Hue to Hoi An, we drove past Marble Mountain, and way off into the distance, we could see this glass elevator scaling the side of a cliff – that was how you got up there. I said to Steve no way we’re doing that. He knew how many anxiety attacks I was having and agreed that we’d give it a skip. But then we had a day in Denang, with our mates Sam and Dave. I hadn’t shared my nightmare with them and they had no idea I was feeling this way. We had big hopes of Denang being a knock out city, but alas, it is one of those places I never expect to return to. However, we had plenty of time to fill that day, and as we drove back to Hoi An, the car took a right at the entrance to Marble Mountain. SHITE!! Steve looked at me and knew exactly how I was feeling. “You stay in the car love. I’ll take them and I promise I won’t let Jax out of my sight.” No bloody way was I staying put. Not because I didn’t trust Steve (I do with every inch of my being), I just couldn’t sit in the car, anxiously waiting for them to return, not knowing what was going on. We went up the mountain, and it was bloody AMAZING. We also kept a VERY close eye on Jax, with most of the photos showing one of us holding tight to our little man. Naturally, they regularly ran off, forcing Steve or I to scramble after them, banging our knees and hips on the impossibly steep marble stairs. But it’s well worth a visit. Incredible that something so beautiful was built so high in a mountain. Humans are amazing. By the time we got to the bottom, I can’t tell you how relieved I was that nothing terrible happened. And then when I got back to work, I found this Huffpost article – Why Nightmares Might Actually Be Good For You – perhaps it’s right and it’s just my brains’ way of putting my fears behind me? Holding onto his shirt I don’t know. I don’t feel completely relaxed about Jax going out adventuring yet, but as he’s the more cautious one, I’ve just got to believe he’ll be OK. Bloody kids I tell ya! In the meantime, Steve is NOT allowed to share those nightmares with me again. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea 

Alas, another great adventure comes to a conclusion and the crazy life we’re living in Singapore returns to normal, quickly, oh so quickly. But that’s what it’s all about. We work our arses off to get out there and see this magnificent world every chance we get. It’s the only motivation I’ve ever had for making a living. The boys got some custom cowboy boots made in Hoi An. They wore them to breakfast – noice! While I’ve been to too many places to count alone, as well as more adventuring with Steve, I have to say travelling with my mini-loves brings a whole new dimension to the experience. I love being out there with them. I love how they engage with the world. I love the simple pleasures they find – like chickens… who knew? Sure there are definitely times when it’s not a lot of fun, and they can moan – my word they can moan – but all in all, I’d say my dudes are great travelers. In Asia, they love kids, but in many of the developed countries they won’t necessarily openly engage with kids – especially if we’re around. This was not a problem in Vietnam. Everywhere we went, the boys were told they were so handsome, and as the mother, I was told I was so lucky. I was getting a bit annoyed with the lucky-to-have-two-boys-bit until my friend Sam told me she heard the same thing about having two girls. Maybe it’s the two thing? Maybe it’s just because they love children? Maybe children are just a sign of good luck and fortune in a country coming out of a pretty bleak time? Whatever it is, everywhere we went, complete strangers were reaching out and touching them. Motorbikes would stop as we were about to negotiate a road to tell the boys how handsome they were. A whole school year in Halong Bay insisted on having group photos with the boys. The teachers insisted on photos with Steve. It was great. I loved it. But sometimes the boys found it all a bit much. “Mum why are they staring at me? Tell them to stop.” We had to wait at a strip club for our train to Hue. One day the boys will understand this sign Lex is definitely the more curious of our two lads, so when we caught the night train from Hanoi to Hue I decided to take him on a walk. We were at the shiny end, with clean toilets, good aircon and beds, so as we walked further and further down the train, the standards drop significantly. By the time we got to the comfortable chairs (we didn’t make it to the wooden slat benches) the arms started reaching out, touching Lex, wanting to talk to him. He was having none of that, turning around to leg it back to our cabin for the rest of the ride. That was a good result. It would’ve been tedious heading up and down the train with him, like we used to do on planes when they were toddlers. All up I’d say that Vietnam is awesome. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to get there and now I’ve been twice in a year! It’s definitely a country coming into its own, and the people are truly magnificent – friendly, open, warm, engaging. However, within the next five years – based on the construction we saw everywhere – it’ll be a whole new country. Some of it will be better, some will be a sad loss (its history is so rich, we can only hope they value it), but you can’t stop progress, as they say Where ever it heads as it develops, I can definitely recommend it to anyone who’s been thinking about a visit. If you’ve got kids, more so. They’re completely welcome. I would suggest, however, that you check the weather before flying off. We managed to get the hottest temperatures Vietnam has experienced since records began, and it was hot, really REALLY hot. Singapore actually feels quite cool today at a balmy 31 degrees celsius. So now it’s time for the next adventure to be planned. We’re tossing up Myanmar or Sri Lanka… both have such appeal! Then again, I think Steve would insist on a beach holiday next… We’re pretty tired after this trip. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea 

It’s been a pretty intense couple of weeks – well couple of months really, no, no, no, let’s be honest now – couple of years. And that is why my beloved Without the Bollocks is languishing, unloved and lonely. I love this blog more than anything else I do, but I’ve had to throw my hands up and say, it’s OK. You’ve been consistent since 2009, but during this small window of time in your life, you aren’t doing half the stuff you need to do, so BE AT PEACE. Alas, I’m not very good at listening to myself either…  But if my readers love me, they’ll be back when I am…. Right? Please say yes!! Although all evidence points to no. C’est la vie. So what have I been doing, I hear you ask? Well it’s all mostly work related, but one little addition is an elevation in getting out there and speaking to people – both opportunities I’ve created, as well as getting invited to speak at industry events. Wonderful opportunities all, the thing is, sometimes in the hours preceding these opportunities, my bowels turn to water and I’m a bloody nightmare to be around! Steve will verify this point. The smaller, intimate affairs are much easier, but those big industry ones – my word!! This is especially the case when I haven’t had a chance to test my message first. It can only get easier right? It’s not that I have a fear of public speaking. That’s never been an issue for me and I’ve never understood why it’s one of those top fears for us humans. However throughout my career, I’ve usually had to do it on a smaller scale, where most of the people listening to me actually know me, know what I stand for, and understand my passion for the subject I’m discussing. Change that to a room of 150 strangers, presenting content I haven’t taken beyond my business circle, well that’s a whole new world of anxiousness. The thing is, I’ve never had this great desire to be centre stage. Even as a youngster I spent a lot of time on stage, but my favorite memories are always when I was part of something much bigger. I know people think I’m gregarious and can only imagine that being on stage is exactly all I’ve ever dreamed about, but the reality is, it’s not. What I DO have a yearning desire to do, however, is help people achieve more, be more, succeed more, and hopefully make the world a better place while I’m at it. I’ve gathered some pretty handy knowledge over the years, as well as insights, which I believe are pretty useful for others. The opportunity to share what I know is a wonderful thing to do, and I always love it when these sessions go well and people walk away inspired to make a change that will help them be more successful. That feels good and it makes me happy. However the build-up is excruciating, but equally, so is the vulnerability of it all. I didn’t like being vulnerable when I was a youngster, and managed to develop a tough nut persona in my teens. That isn’t a healthy place though, so I put in the hard work on that side of me and re-vulnerabalized myself in the last couple of decades. I like being vulnerable, it makes me more human and a gentler person. But fucking it up on stage, making a fool of myself, slipping in an accidental fuck in a business meeting, and all of that other stuff…. Well it’s squirm material for me. But ‘they say’ to grow you have to face your fears head on and do it anyway. I am doing it anyway. Just wish that feeling in my guts would go away. And with that, I sign off for a two week holiday with my three loves to Vietnam. We haven’t had a two week holiday in more than a decade and I can’t tell you how excited I am that we can get away and see a new place. I also love seeing the world through my boys’ eyes – that’s magic for me. I know they are going to bloody love it and grow a little more as people. So stay tuned for Adventures from Nam. Hopefully I’ll have some time for reflection, while trying to disengage from life for a short time. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

I had an epiphany the other day. While the family was out shopping, number two put in a request for a number two. This request used to make me groan, sweat and swear, because the time required for said number two to do a number two was extensive, and when in a sweaty, tropical toilet, it is really, really shithouse!  Throughout all such public toilet adventures with both of my lads, we’ve always had lots of conversations. The main focus of the conversation always went along the lines of this: “Mum are you doing a wee or a poo?” Obviously I was ALWAYS doing a wee. I must be honest and admit I secretly did enjoy our chats, because their freedom to express our shared experiences, while having no appreciation of its inappropriate nature, was lovely, sweet and completely harmless. One day, these conversations will stop too, but not yet, not yet. They’re just not with me anymore. They are big boys now, and as such, they go to the big boy’s toilet. When Steve’s around, he obviously has to endure it, but otherwise it’s between them and any male strangers in the toilet. My job today is to stand outside and wait, hoping the toilet is clean, and that no guest makes the mistake of dropping a massive guff. This happened recently. Thankfully Steve was there. While having the “conversation,” another chap was obviously experiencing some rather intense stomach difficulties. “Dad did you hear that pop-off? It was so loud. Dad there he goes again. He did a BIG fart Dad.” (Yes we are moving beyond pop-off to fart. That had to happen too.) Steve was obviously suppressing his giggles, while trying not to encourage the conversation, but there is nothing that can be done. My boys are at the age when they think bodily functions are the funniest thing on the planet, and all we can hope for is that day to come to an end too. And soon. I just felt sorry for the guy on the other bog. A peaceful bog he did not have. But part of my epiphany was linked back to an earlier blog I wrote – Motherhood a Series of No Mores. In this I talked about all of the things I decided to stop doing for the boys. I was just done. I’d had enough. It included wiping their arses after they were out of nappies – check. Amazing how quickly they sort themselves out there. Opening Chuppa Chups – check! There is always, ALWAYS a will to open a Chuppa Chup and will is all that’s required to get a result. But of course, now they’re at the series of no mores with me. I obviously can’t take them to the toilet anymore. There are certain conversations they’ll only have with their dad now. When trying clothes on in shops, I can no longer drop their dacks in public and do it quickly. We need the privacy of a dressing room and no mum, you can’t come in. The journey of the parent is fascinating. Our boys are bloody hilarious, and every day I see how the world is starting to shape their thinking and influence their ideas. But they are still connected to the core of who they are, even if it gets chipped away at every day. We’re such complex creatures us humans, so trying to help my boys stay connected to their core is my job now, but it’s completely out of my control. I can’t be there every minute of the day. I can’t shield their hearts from hurt. I have to let them find their way, and with the no mores building up for this mumma, it creates distance too. This is a good thing and a sad thing. I always knew I had to let them go, but it hurts a little bit every time they pull away just that little bit more. Sigh… Bloody kids. I love ‘em to bits, but crikey, what a ride! Anyone want to share a favorite ‘no more’ memory – whether it’s one of yours or one of theirs? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

When I went to Australia a few weeks back, I spent some long overdue time with my brothers (Paul & Mark), sister (Phillipa), as well as my mum, Kath. It was really nice and I am thrilled for Paul that he finally found his bride. However, because I haven’t been around my family for nearly six years (how did that happen?) it was interesting to watch and observe. Definitely a case of watch them, see yourself.   Paul in the middle One thing I’ve always known is my family has always been pretty out there compared to most. Let’s just say there was always a lot of energy in the family, because we’re all a bit manic. I always remember a lot of people around our family often wondering how the bloody hell we all keep moving, thinking, speaking, shouting (mainly mum) and running at the pace we did, but it appears it’s in the genes. At one point, Mark was talking about how he hates people walking in front of him, feeling like he’s constantly being tripped up by slow walkers. I totally get that. Worse for me is someone who stops and talks to me in a doorway – as my husband knows so well. Speak to me but keep moving love, and DO NOT trap me in. Although I have come to appreciate that walking fast when there’s nowhere to be is completely pointless – slow down and enjoy the moment right? Also a benefit of living in the tropics is you walk slower because it’s too just bloody hot to walk fast. I’m still quick for Singapore though. Paul showed a different manic side – this time when opening stuff – and there’s a lot of stuff to open during a wedding. I am equally guilty of this, as are my kids. When opening anything, if it is not immediately responsive, what do you do? You rip it apart that’s what you do. You know that patience virtue thing? I didn’t get a lot of that either. Mark and Phillipa My sister Phillipa lives her life at such high velocity, it’s hard for anyone to keep up. Whether she’s teaching, conducting, hosting a radio show, mothering, or decorating the most amazing cakes, she can spin your head around at the pace she lives her life. And then there’s my lovely mum Kath. Bloody hell mum, I just got out of bed, give me a chance to turn around and make it. My mum’s home is always ALWAYS clean, and nothing stays in the wrong place. Mum is definitely the one who gave all of us those impatient and manic genes. My dad is definitely the calm one of the clan – although I got my “headiness” from him. Thanks dad. I’ve often wondered why I can’t just sit back and enjoy the ride – appreciating what I’ve achieved and being OK with that. I’ve always tried really hard to master it – with meditation, mindfulness practice, etc.. – but there’s always something else I want to achieve, a new goal to be set, a new ambition to nurture. I can’t help it. This thing lives inside of me and as Queen sang “I want it all and I want it now.” I was out with my mate for drinks the other night and she said you need to learn to be patient when I told her things weren’t moving fast enough in one area of my life. I know, I KNOW but I can’t. The drive exists and if I get freed up in one area of my life, a new opportunity has some space to jump in. I know it is exhausting for Steve. I feel the exhaustion of being with me in him often. But I can’t help it, I really can’t. He knew that when he married me too. I was reading something recently that our most productive and successful years are usually in our 40s-60s. When I read it I thought of course, here I am in the heart of the time when I can probably achieve my best work, and yet here I am also in the time of being a hands on mum with young kids. That’s why you do the procreating thing earlier, so you can be free when your best time comes up. Doh! Oh well, life twists and weaves, opportunities ebb and flow, and I continue to run full pace into everything, doing too much, taking new things on, agreeing to more, more, more. I will continue to work on quieting my mind, trying to get more peaceful, more grateful, etc.., but it seems, perhaps, I just need to accept this is who I am and should relish in my thirst for life. Based on my trip to Australia, I think I can say it’s definitely in my genes after all. Anyone else relate to being completely manic – in mind, body or spirit? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

Chatting it up with Oprah In case you didn’t notice, it’s Mother’s Day and I think that’s fairly universal, except maybe in Europe? As I’ve written about before, I’ve always had mixed feelings about Mother’s Day, but it comes around every year and of course, it must be celebrated. One of my big struggles about this day is the women I know who haven’t had their chance to become mothers. It’s worse now with social media – there is no escaping the day. I can only imagine how hard that is. I never thought I’d be a mother. I spent years alone, never finding the guy that had the qualities necessary to be a dad for my kids. I was always determined that if I didn’t meet him, then I’d accept a life with no kids. It was better that way. But I did find Steve and the output is two magnificent sons that make us laugh and scream every day. The minute I was pregnant, the big change I noticed is that my life was no longer my own. I wasn’t a private human being living in my own world anymore. From being touched by complete strangers when I was pregnant, to blokes I didn’t know well enough talking about my boobs and breastfeeding, all the way through to well-intentioned people providing advice and insights when you’re little lad is struggling… My world got crashed in on by people in ways I never imagined before. I haven’t always liked that. Little angels In the journey of parenting, we’ve had a very turbulent time – mainly with our Lex. The worst part of that turbulent time is the opinions of people who have no idea what they’re talking about, but feel entitled to share it with you anyway. It takes a lot of strength to grin and bear it let me tell you. I’ve never been rude to people (even if I was screaming inside) because it’s not who I am. If I expressed everything I felt in all of those situations, people wouldn’t like me very much. The reality is, people think they’re helping, but have no idea what you’ve done, what you think, the worries you carry inside (and share only with your husband) and the mountains you’ve scaled for your child already. We’ve left no stone un-turned with the Lexster, and the journey is ongoing, but one thing I can tell you is this: we’ve always been right. He just needs time to develop at his own pace after missing out on the first four years of development due to hearing issues. The hearing issue is fixed and he’s going to be OK, even if we wish he’d bloody hurry up and get on with it…. But nah, that boy does things on his own timeline. I admire him for that and WE need to be patient. He’s an expensive child that one. We’ve experienced some brutal times along the way with Lex too – including being abused by a teacher (that was fucked let me tell you) – and getting kicked out of schools, rejected by other schools, and at many points along the way, left us wondering if we’d  have to move countries to help him move forward. All through this, Jax has been a solid and happy little man, until recently when his teacher told us he’s having confidence issues. Really? Jax not confident? Bloody hell, how do we help him? A new project commences, because what’s more important than confidence and self-respect? They met lots of famous people at Madam Taussads, Singapore So for me, being a mother has been a struggle and it hasn’t always been a lot of fun. Equally, I have massive ambitions for myself, and these ambitions are only getting stronger. I want to make a positive contribution to the world in my own way, so keeping that dream alive is really critical to who I am. But equally, I take the family responsibility seriously. I have seen the results of parents “fucking it up” and I don’t want my boys to be those adults. I can’t guarantee that they won’t be, but I don’t want to look back and know it was something I missed along the way – like making sure they know I love them, believe in them, respect them and value them. If you go back through my blog you’ll find many posts railing against the duties of being a mother. The first 7-8 years were not amazing. They were grueling and confusing and hard and horrible and frustrating and exhausting and much much more. But they were also amazing and beautiful and precious and divine and funny and adventurous and fascinating and so much more of that. Being a mother is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. But I tell you one thing that’s undeniable. I love those two little dudes with a passion that scares the hell of me sometimes. Anyone else not had the easiest journey in the early years? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

I was in Australia last weekend for my big brother’s wedding – first time marrying at 47 – hoorah! Congrats Paul and Jennifer. You’re perfect for each other and I wish you years of peace and bliss together. You both deserve it. Anyhoo, as I was meandering around Geelong and the surrounding towns, I was really struck by something I didn’t realize I missed, until I saw it again. And that is strangers being really courteous, thoughtful and kind to each other. Not big things, tiny things, but it was really nice to be around it again. Fish & Chips on the beach in Queenscliff I know it won’t sound like much but a very small example. Paul, Jax and I were having fish and chips on the beach in Queenscliff. As Paul was tidying up and getting ready to put all of our rubbish in the bin, he took a moment to stop and ask the table next to us if they wanted the ketchup (aka tomato sauce) we didn’t use. It was such a tiny thing and it really struck me – because I wouldn’t do that in Asia. Community is much closer to home in this region and that is something that takes a lot of getting used to when you move here. Later that day, when I was helping set up the wedding at the golf course, I met a couple of golfing dames and we were having a nice chat. This guy came up, asking for directions to the loo, and one of the ladies stopped everything she was doing and walked him far enough in the direction of the toilet so he knew where he was going. When he came out, he walked up and said a hearty thank you. She could’ve just pointed, but she didn’t, she went that little bit further. He could’ve gone back to the golf course. He didn’t. He wanted to express his gratitude. For the five days we were in Australia I noticed these small interactions between people everywhere we went. Small acknowledgements that another human being was in the mix, as people did something to cater for another person in their physical periphery. I couldn’t help but wonder how amazing that must feel to people who might be living alone? This openness to strangers is a strong part of the Australian culture, and I wonder how many Australians even know it’s special? I didn’t realize it was until this trip when I really noticed it – like it was the first time. It reminded me that I miss that wonderful, open culture of my home country. It’s a great thing. Jax loved the sea weed! I love living in Asia and I love living in Singapore. It’s been 12 years now and it’s been very good to us. But it is a nation of strangers in many ways too. Another small example. When I first arrived in Singapore, there was a footpath I used to get to lunch. On rainy days, you had to stay on the path, because it was muddy everywhere else. In the early days, I remember being very shocked as I walked this path, when the three people walking towards me side-by-side wouldn’t move to accommodate me. What, you want me to walk in the mud? Why can’t one of you just move? It was perplexing. I soon learnt to walk and read, or walk straight and firm, with no eye contact. That was the only way people would get out of my way, and if they didn’t, my shoulders came in handy. It still happens, and I’m definitely used to it, but I have days when it absolutely shits me to tears – because my humanness is not being acknowledged. It’s like I’m not even there. However, I love being here, and I know it is the great privilege I’ve had to live in so many parts of the world that has given me the ability to appreciate the wonderful bits of culture each country has to offer. We’re all just very different.   So my Aussie friends, I know life can be hard yakka, and I know the world looks pretty sucky right now, but you have something wonderful there, treasure it and keep up that kindness to those around you – no matter who they are. It’s certainly a quality that will bring me back home one day. For those who’ve lived in other countries, what have you appreciated about your homeland you’ve only been able to notice because you left? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

I broke my toe over Chinese New Year. It was the weirdest thing. Steve and I were sitting on the couch and we noticed a flying insect. You don’t get too many flying things in Singapore so it gets your attention. Then we realised it was a bee, but when we looked up, it wasn’t just one bee, we had a swarm flying into our home. Shite!   Up we jumped, I grabbed the insect killer and ran around closing doors and windows. That’s when it happened. Moving briskly out of our bathroom, I slammed my toe right into a clothes rack with metal legs, and it hurt, like really really. But I had doors and windows to close, so I kept going, and as I moved around the house, I started saying ow, ow, ow, OW!! Oh my god it hurt. Toe stubs usually hit hard and fast but then it goes. However this was different – it was a grower, and my word it blossomed into a world of pain.   That was it – a fucked toe – SO annoying! It got fatter and fatter and fatter, and it wasn’t ‘til a month later I thought hey, maybe an x-ray would be a good idea? That’s when I got that little photo taken to discover I did, in fact, break it. On the mend now, but crikey, who knew how much a toe could hurt? The reason I didn’t do anything about my toe is what’s the point? Every time I’ve had anything foot related checked out by the doctor, they just tend to look at you with a little shrug and say keep it up and ice it, that’s all you can do – right?   However my main discovery of the experience has been how bloody vulnerable toes are around children. We are fully accustomed to the culture of removing shoes when entering our home in Asia. We actually quite like it and believe it will follow us wherever we go, unless that place is cold and then we’ll wear Ugg boots. In the meantime, bare feet and clumsy children – oh my GOD!   Jax landed a beauty on my toe recently and the most common utterance in the house this last month has been “watch my toe, WATCH MY TOE!” But they’re seven and eight right, and there’s something spectacularly unaware in kids this age. They stumble around, standing on your feet, hitting their dad in the nuts, smacking me in the boobs, knocking things over, breaking things, and just creating unintentional chaos. That’s a kid’s job. But who knew how often your toes were a battleground for children?   Well I do now and I’m certainly looking forward to this baby healing – mainly so I stop panicking every time my boys come anywhere near me. I’m also hoping it’s not going to be one of those aches that curses me into my dotage. That’s definitely one of the things you think about as you start getting crusty around the edges. One thing for sure though, the next time the bees come, I won’t be so focused on their eradication. I’m not allergic, so who cares? A bee sting or two would have been a lot nicer to deal with.   Ho hum, there you have it. Anyone else in Singapore have a swarm of bees descend on their apartment? Not normal right?   Yours, without the bollocks Andrea