Monday, September 19, 2016

Morning Sickness and Other People's Poop

This is a real photo of nausea caused by Fajitas, The Fetus that I sent to my husband at work.

The greatest enemy to a sick, pregnant woman is other people's poop. It's the most frequent and common foul smell that she will come across. How do I know this? Because I have become an expert on poop smell avoidance. I'm like a crap- ninja - taking no shit from anyone. I'm like a dung warrior whose weapons are lit matches, air freshener, and a fuck-load of Glen 20.


I wasn't always this stealth or incredible at my chocolate banana-jumping and ass-butter evasion techniques. No, I've had my many lows. However, 4 months of insane morning sickness has taught me a thing or two. It's taught me that family will be in my worst enemy when it comes to dropping it like it's hot.

I kid you not, this shade of OPI nail polish is the
exact same colour as my stomach bile.
The first time I stupidly went in unarmed to change my son's poopy nappy there were cries of "Mummy, please don't puke on me." I dry heaved relentlessly, and swallowed hard. I couldn't make promises to my toddler because I could barely speak.
The next time he had a nappy of butt mud he cried "I so sorry mummy. I not make you puke mummy. I so sorry!" It's an unsaid rule now in our house that if Daddy is home then he is the official ca-ca cleaner.

But what happens when Daddy is the cause of the googe stink? With one toilet to share we face this conundrum on an almost daily basis. His body has a knack for knowing when I'm at my most nauseous. Either I have to try and get there first or think of his lingering air floaties as a blessing that will help me bring up all my stomach contents with a lot less effort. A good toilet stain also goes a long way in shortening the dry-heaving process and coming up with the goods. Usually I just hope the sulphur from the matches he lit and the hipster air- fragrance from the "Unicorn Marshmallow Musk" bottle will be enough to stop me.


Speaking of shit-stains: we also now have another rule. Or I do. The toilet seat and ceramic rim must be left in sparkling condition for the entirety of my pregnancy or the length of my morning sickness. (During my first pregnancy the later matched the first). It doesn't matter too much because I've become so good at this puking business that I have a technique for keeping my hands and arms reasonably germ free. I hold on to my son's step stool instead of the toilet rim and this works a charm.


My in-laws won't escape from my monkey-flinging word throwing. They're just as bad. On Father's day I raced my son the toilet for a pee. I was bitch slapped in the face by the lingering smell of a half-flushed dookie and left crying out to my husband to come help me in the bathroom. Again I dry heaved like the world was falling out of me.

Last weekend I was at a blogger's conference of over 500 people. Mostly women. You can imagine the stink those women created, especially at the rate of eating being done. 3 meals a day and 2 snack times, (not to mention the alcohol consumed). I waited my turn in line and Russian rouletted myself into a stall with fresh mank stank. I fled as quickly as I'd gone in. RETREAT!! I called out to the next woman in line that I had morning sickness and couldn't use that stall. I waited again and this time came up lucky. I should have had a car air-freshner wrapped around my head for that public toilet moment.

A real photo of me, trying to keep it down!

In corn-clusion; Where possible - be armed and ready. The other day I wrapped a long sleeved shirt around my face to change my son's nappy. Yesterday I even pulled my t-shirt up over my face when I had to use our loo after my husband. See, I have become a crap-ninja, a dung warrior. Granted, it helps that my morning sickness isn't nearly as bad as it was but also that I'm taking a stupidly expensive medication every day to help prevent The Vom too, (it's the same medication they give chemo patients). Things are looking up for Peachy.

(By the way there is such thing as a The Poop Thesaurus. I just learned about it writing this post. You're welcome).

POSTSCRIPT: I guess this post is also my pregnancy announcement for my blog readers. HEY! Here's the official announcement video for baby number 2. (Affectionately nicknamed Fajitas the Fetus). My mother in-law's reaction is the highlight so don't miss that bit! 



*Linked up with Kylie Pyrtell for I Blog on Tuesdays
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Wednesday, September 7, 2016

My Best Friend Stole All My Money

I had just graduated from high school and the family who had generously treated me as their own for ten months of year 12 were gently pushing me out of the nest.  It was time to leave their gorgeous home and find my way in the world. My only options were to go back to living in my absolutely chaotic, small (and very full) family townhouse with my mum and siblings; or move in with one of my best friends, who had just inherited her dad's apartment and small fortune after he died of lung cancer.
I met her at bible camp. Here's us on the 70's/
80's theme night. She's in the green.

Lidi and I met when we were adorable, awkward 14 year olds at a summer camp in Canada. All through our high school years we kept in touch. For the first couple years it was just letter writing and seeing each other at camp or one off youth activities. We probably started attending the same youth group around the time we were 16. From there it was always me, Jenn (in the red dress) and Lidi hanging out. We dated the boys in our youth group on Fridays (or didn't), went to bible studies on Tuesdays, and met up on Sundays in church where we'd have saved each other seats. Our bibles sat in our laps staring back at us with the covers we'd so cooly decorated and personalised.


We were about as close as friends can be, sharing everything. Which led to us eventually sharing the room of her inherited, one bedroom apartment on the east side of Vancouver.
To afford rent I quickly found a job as a switchboard and reservations operator at a hotel downtown.
The public transport from the apartment was great. I didn't make much but it was enough to buy $20-$30 of groceries a week, and set a little bit aside. I was the kinda girl who'd go out to the club in freezing temperatures without a coat just so I didn't have to pay for the coat-check. Cheap.

I decided when I was 19 I would go off to Australia and join a cult. Well, sort of. No one ever decides to join a cult knowing it's a cult, do they? I thought I was just doing a christian missionary training school;  and because it was a missionary thing that I was doing I had people in my life and church who generously donated money to sending me on this school. The school included a third world country missionary "outreach"  for the last month or two of it (*cue photos of white girl with cute thai children). I was overwhelmed with the support of people who gave, some of it anonymous.

Being 19 years old sometimes means making stupid decisions. With financial support coming in the forms of cash and cheques into my mailbox I decided I should probably make my personal bank account joint with Lidi. Why? Lidi answered our door and picked up our mail, and I trusted her. I thought that if people wanted to deposit money to me while I was away then I needed someone to have access to my account. I did not know that anyone could deposit into my account and did not need her assistance. I was naive. Apparently I missed the course on basic banking 101.

I completed my missionary training school and around 8.5 months later I was back in Canada. I had completely succumbed to cult recruitment and was making plans to go back to Australia in a matter of months to join the organisation as a staff member. During my absence I'd organised for my younger sister, (who was dying to move out of our mother's place), to fill my spot as Lidi's roommate. I was able to move back into the apartment because Lidi had cheated on her boyfriend, (the one she was always talking about marrying), and was off travelling in Thailand for the unforeseen future with her new boy.
                                      Me hanging in our apartment. Pretending I can play guitar.

Returning back to your homeland with no job is a bit frightening (especially after a spiritual awakening that leads to copious amounts of self-righteousness, and  old friends who just don't understand the new you). I was glad I had my savings of $1,500 in the bank to help me through. My little safety net. It was all the money that poor little 20 year old missionary had in the world. When I went to get a little out of the bank it was gone. I thought there was some mistake. A hundred thoughts crossed my mind. Did I overdraw from overseas? No, I didn't use that account while I was gone.  Hmmmm. Did Lidi accidentally take my money using the wrong bank card by accident?

I wanted to think the best of her. She was one of my longest and closest friends. I wrote to her in Thailand, panicking, asking if that's what happened. At first she denied taking any money out of my account so I went to the bank again and asked them to print me a transaction record. All signs pointed to her. All the money was pulled out of bank machines, using the bankcard she was given when I made the account joint. It was her. I wrote her back with this new information. Then she said she must have done it on accident. Okay, once maybe would be believable? But over and over. And no word about paying me back? Then her mum got involved. She called me up, acting all friendly like she wanted to help me out. Then she came over and looked at the transaction records. She did not want to believe it was true. Neither did I but there it was in black and white.

Then the horrible emails came. She had admitted by this point she had taken the money but when confronted on when she would pay the money back her response was something like this:
"After everything I've done for you. Gave you a place to live when you had nowhere to go. Let you pay a low rent (well she chose the rent rate not me, and I was sharing a bedroom). I was there for you when you would cry your eyes out over your breakup with your ex (Um, what friend isn't?)."

Ohhhhhhhhh, I get it now. So because she'd been a friend to me and done "friend" things for me, I  actually owed her that $1,500 she stole from my account? Ahhhh.

To top it off I had a good friend of mine, who I'd lost touch with during my time in Australia, finally reach out to me when I was back. He was hurt. I didn't understand why he was upset and distant. He explained that he'd dropped off a few hundred dollars to Lidi for her to put into my account for me while I was away. He was hurt that I never said thank you...  It was the least I could do. He gave me money even though he wasn't a christian. He gave me money even though he didn't understand why I was doing a christian school. He was just being generous and loving. My jaw dropped. I told him I never got that money, she stole that too.

I have never seen a cent from her. When I asked my cult leader if I should take her to small claim's court he wisely stupidly told me that because she was my christian sister I shouldn't take her to court. He used some bible verse to convince me.

So kids, what did we learn from this?
1. Don't join a cult (or try not to)
2. Don't trust close friends (become bitter and suspicious of everyone instead).
3. Don't get a joint account just for deposits.
4. Don't listen to stupid advice from a cult leader.


Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Our House Got Robbed



We'd only lived in our new home for under a year when we were broken into.
I had taken a week off work to recover from having one of my saliva gland's removed. (I know, I'm getting a reputation for my cool surgeries. Don't be jealous, my mouth has 30% less saliva than yours).

At the time, I worked as an office manager in a psychology practice and there were no other employees to harass in the David Brent style. When the Thursday after my surgery rolled around, and I was feeling better, and speaking easily - much to my husband's disappointment delight. I called my boss and told her I'd be in to work the next day. She was so relieved. I didn't normally work on Fridays but I knew there would be a lot to catch up on come Monday if I didn't go in.

We had just had friends from Norway staying with us the week before my surgery. So if there was a thief watching our house, and trying to figure out a schedule it would have proven tricky to figure out.


My husband and I usually don't arrive home from work at the same time but this day we did. It was winter so our completely enclosed and private porch was in complete darkness. My husband was a few steps behind me. As I stepped into the porch I screamed bloody murder, like I'd just been attacked or something. He freaked out. I laughed really hard. "Why do you do things like that, Jess? You scare me." I thought I was hilarious. I stumbled in the dark for the lock and finally got my key in.  I switched the light on. Immediately I knew things were amiss. I did not leave the front hall closet open when I left. Our re-usable green bags were scattered in the entry.


I exclaimed something like "Oh my Gosh, this isn't right." I turned to look in the lounge room and saw that our entertainment unit had been completely pulled from the wall with cords sticking out. Then I turned to my bedroom and stuff was thrown all over our bed, and not because we'd made hot love that morning. We hadn't). Panicked, I turned to Dave - "We've been broken into!" He was in disbelief and replied sarcastically "Yeah, sure we have... this just one of your stupid pranks, Jess." "No, Dave, really we've been broken into." (No one ever believes me about the serious things). "How do I know you didn't just set this up?" He asked. A reasonable question considering my sick sense of humour, the prank I'd just pulled, and the fact that I leave for work after him. Which means I would have had time to set something this elaborate up. Except I didn't. I stood there shaking like a twerker's bottom, and explained that I wouldn't have been able to move the entertainment unit out that far (confession: I am not buff).

Then we noticed the laptop was missing...
You can see to the end of the hallway, where the blinds hang and where the sneaky thief exited on right.
I heard the sliding door's blind flapping in the wind at the back of the house. We tentatively moved down the hallway together, not knowing if their was still someone in our home, but apparently dumb enough to think we could fight them off with our... bare hands? Yup, just like the 'Casey's, Rebecca's and Crystal's' of horror movies gone by.
The back sliding door was wide open but the blind was down. I rushed into our back study and looked in our filing cabinet. The one with the lock on it, but of course - it wasn't locked. My white gold necklace with the diamond pendant that David gave me on our wedding night was gone. That's when I burst into tears (imagine a twerker crying). The thief could have taken so many other things (like the landline phone or address book pictured. Things that will have real value soon because they are almost extinct). Why the necklace? WAHHH! That was priceless to me. What about the sentimental value? Thieves are not the most thoughtful bunch.

Filing cabinets make shitty safes. This is why we own a real safe now, people! One we keep locked.
The cops came that night. They took ages to show up even though their headquarters is only 3 city blocks away. When they arrived they seemed really nonchalant about the whole thing. Apparently this happens all the time so they didn't seem too surprised. The forensic investigators came and dusted everything for prints the next day. They found a lot of mine, but I tried not to look guilty. Then I spent hours getting the black powder off everything. 
David's Johnny Walker Blue Label was taken, along with several other bottles. We're classy.
And for the record, I finally convinced Dave to recycle the giant empty beer can.

The thief had entered through a window at the back of the house by pushing up the pane and sliding it over. He had used one of my plant pots to hoist himself inside. He took whatever he could carry in one of our green re-usable shopping bags. He had enough time to search the study to find the Macbook power cord after taking the Macbook from the lounge room. He stole some other small items as well, like my digital camera. Which probably doesn't seem like much right now but back in those days, kids, most phones didn't have the great cameras in them like they do today.

You can see the thief's running shoe imprint on left where the cops dusted for prints, and the window that he came in through. Not sure why he left the cookbook. 
Luckily David had taken out Home and Contents insurance when we had moved in and we were able to get everything replaced. Funnily enough, insurance companies aren't too interested in replacing your green shopping bags.

Dave picked up the replacement necklace from the jeweller without me knowing and gave it to me on a bench, in the moonlight, overlooking the ocean. He said he wanted to give me another special memory of  receiving the new necklace to help me forget the robbery. Mushy bottoms!

David installed extra locks on every single window and the back sliding doors, and installed a simple home security system that *called our home phones in a break in. And he bought a safe. It's taken me years to not dream about someone breaking into our home, especially because our neighbours were broken into a few years later. I was incredibly creeped out that a stranger was in my bedroom, going through my personal items without me knowing. Yuck. Who knows, maybe he even stole a pair of undies that I haven't even missed. Bahaha. Shouldn't flatter myself. Actually, that's also very yuck. Reminds me way too much of the prison-panty-mail ring that Orange Is The New Black had on their show.

*The night I was literally pushing my baby into the world our phones both got calls (from the alarm system) saying our home was being broken into. Besides a death in the family I'm not sure there is much more stress inducing information you can give a woman in the throes of labour. Turned out to be a false alarm and we still don't know why it happened. My elderly neighbour still brings it up with my 2 year old son. "I could hear your mother bringing you into the world the night you were born." I really wish Dave didn't have to call her husband to see if he could check our house for us. I'll never live that down.

Linked up with Essentially Jess for I Blog on Tuesdays

Friday, May 6, 2016

We Will Rock You Review - The Musical By Queen and Ben Elton

*Sponsored by We Will Rock You and Nuffnang, but 100% Peachy!
Professional photography from We Will Rock You Australia

Growing up as a kid in a fundamentalist Christian home I didn’t have the opportunity to listen to rock music, Christian or secular. It was not allowed. My dad thought he was funny by saying “Rock and roll can just rock and roll out the door of this house.” My 5 year old brain would just imagine a rock rolling out the door, not really understanding what I was missing until I was about 11 years old.

In a pile of my parent’s old records, I discovered a Christian children’s record to put on our record player. It was about a lion, the king of the jungle, swinging from tree to tree. It sounded a bit Elvis-like, not that I would have known that then. I used to play it on repeat and thrash around the lounge room, jumping off the lounges and doing air-guitar. When I was 13 I was able to buy a walk-man and then sneakily buy my first cassette tapes, or record off the radio on dad’s blank tapes (that he reserved for sermons) when my parents weren’t around. Music was my escape.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Midwife Gini's Own Home Water Birth Story

My guest post today is by my friend Gini Conroy. What struck me about her story, when she told it to me, was how real and honest she was about her labor pain and how empowered she sounded when she described her home birth. Sometimes I read home birth stories that sound to good to be true. It's refreshing to hear her admit she had to do some screaming, and get all animalistic. Roar! She, herself, is a passionate and caring Newcastle midwife. She is also wife to Eli, and mum to Noel and newborn Tully. I hope you enjoy her story and take away something from it too.
 - Jess from Peachy Keen Mumma-
Professional photography by Kate Kennedy
The most common thing someone will say when you mention you are going to have a Homebirth is: 'but what about all the mess?'
Firstly I'll just mention, that I remember actually saying and thinking the same thing years ago and for me the reason was just because I'd never been to a Homebirth.

Monday, April 11, 2016

Does Spending $7450 a Year Make Me High Maintenance?

*Brought to you by Compare the Market but 100% Peachy

I put a strain on my family's finances. I know I do. I want to live and maintain a certain lifestyle, and that means big money needs to be spent on me. I demand it. I need it. I cannot go without it. I'm hard work. 


Every year we spend a butt-load on my health. Ever since I was a passenger in 4 car accidents in 1999-2000 I have been riddled with chronic pain due to soft tissue damage. What started just in my back has now spread to almost every place in my body. (Please make sure you read that word "passenger" because I'm not the world's worst driver). I am, however, my chiropractor's bread and butter, and probably that nice craft beer he drinks on a Friday night. I see him once every 4 weeks if I'm doing okay, and once every 2 weeks if I'm not.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

DREAM LOVER: The Bobby Darin Musical + Tickets Giveaway

*Sponsored by Nuffnang and Dream Lover but 100% Peachy


Photo by Brian Geach

I arrived at Sydney’s Lyric Theatre on Monday night with my friend Courtney, after receiving an invitation for the Preview of the musical  Dream Lover. The theatre is located near Darling Harbour, and is off to the side of the very impressive Star Casino. There is a beautiful view, from the Lyric Theatre's gorgeous balcony, of the waterfront and famous city skyline.

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Stop the Corolla, I'm Eating Granola

*Sponsored by Compare the Market but 100% a PKM Recipe


 In a bid to get healthier a year ago, I decided to try something completely foreign to me, and for once it actually worked. Since then I've cut out most processed, refined sugar, stopped eating bread like a maniac, and given pasta and rice a miss most of the month. I also started making up my own paleo recipes, like this granola, after I lost 5kgs doing the Whole30.

Before you tune out on me because the Whole30 "diet" is paleo, and that's a dirty word thanks to celeb chef Pete Evans, don't. I adapted my cooking this way over the year to a nice balance of around 70% paleo to 30% "normal" eating. That's why this recipe is completely paleo except for the oats. That means this recipe is natural, preservative free, refined sugar, corn and corn syrup free, and does not include any of the other nasties. You can make it either way. That's why I love this granola recipe. I always throw in a bit of this and that into my granola. My granola is always changing so I had to work on the measurements for this recipe so I could share the general idea of it with you.


A little trick I use is adding in fruit and nut mix. You could change my recipe by adding more of that and less of the other nuts mentioned as it tends to be a less expensive option sometimes than buying full bags of nuts. I also buy my nuts from Aldi as they seem to cost a lot less than the other two major grocery chains. They also sell unsweetened apple sauce, which I have found difficult to find anywhere else. There always seems to be sugar added.

Monday, March 7, 2016

Me and My Lady Problems

*Sponsored by Compare The Market but 100% pure Peachy!

Groggy Peachy. "Where am I?" An hour after waking up from general anaesthetic.

Warning: Content below includes surgical photo. While I think this photo is cool I respect that others may only like photos of people's outsides and not their insides. 

Let's talk lady problems. There's a lot to contend with when you have a female body. First you start with growing breasts then getting a period. And by the time you're having babies you have to deal with  the tri-fector: leaking boobs, vagina, and urethra. Even then there's usually the haemorrhoids you get from pushing so damn hard to get a human out. Then there's hot flashes from menopause. When does it end? It doesn't. It changes, it get's better from vagina weightlifting (seriously), or kegel work, using all kinds of leak absorbing pads or hormones but it's never really easier. Just different.

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Little Archie's Fight For Life

I find the best way to understand someone's story is to put yourself in their position. I want to share with you the story of a little local boy named Archie, his mum Chloe, and dad Alex. He's around the same age as my son. I've never met this family. Actually I came across his story while going through Instagram. I can relate to having a son that age but it's harder to imagine my son connected to tubes, including one to help him breath, and spending every day in a hospital room. As a parent I can only imagine what getting up everyday would look like; trying to run a household but feeling like I was living at the hospital. Every day marked with uncertainty. How desperate it would feel to have so many unknowns when it comes to my little son's prognosis and treatment. Please read his story below and if you can help please do. - Jess from Peachy Keen Mumma

Archie's Story
Story told in II parts by his mum Chloe, and re-told with the permission of his Aunty Casey.



Left is before Archie got sick, and on right is a doll up for  family auction

Part One - written beginning of February:
Our world was turned upside down last year. November 24th (2015) to be exact. A trip to emergency with what we thought may be a dehydrated 2 year old resulted in much more. Little Archie still hasn’t returned home. Currently we are day 70-something in the intensive care unit at John Hunter Hospital. Fighting a very rare disease that has taken over our vivacious little guy’s life, forcing him to relearn how to move, swallow, talk and even breathe.

It all started with a couple of days of a generally unwell child, something I thought was just a by-product of day care. Runny nose, loss of appetite and temps. Awakening in the middle of the night to a screaming child who was struggling to stand, vomiting and shaking meant a trip to emergency.

Finally we saw a paediatric neurologist. Dr. Miteff, who examined Archie, believed he should be taken for an MRI. By this point the right side of Archie’s face had begun to droop, and this indicated to Dr. Miteff that something more sinister may have been going on. Just before Archie was taken for his MRI, his oxygen levels dropped significantly, and he had to be moved to his own room and given oxygen. By this point we were scared, and so confused. We thought our son was just a little under the weather, that’s all. As I held my sons hand while he was being sedated to undergo the MRI, all I can remember thinking is 'why are we here?'

Archie had to be intubated for the MRI and taken to ICU following the procedure. That was November 26th, and he is still ventilated in ICU today. In a different room with a much better view, but none the less, not home. 

What a trooper 
Part 2 - Written February 22nd:
The weeks following Archie’s admission were some of the scariest moments of our lives. But having said that, they are a complete blur. Days roll into one, doctor after doctor, nurse after nurse. Archie was a really sick little boy, that is the easiest way to explain it.

We would find ourselves watching every number on every monitor, we learnt quickly we shouldn’t panic unless our nurse did, but we also learnt the lower the number the worse Archie would get. I wish I didn’t understand what was happening sometimes, but you pick up a thing or two being by your son's side 24/7.



My son was on life support, there were moments when he would go blue in the face due to lack of oxygen, and they would have to ‘bag’ him to make sure we didn’t lose him. Archie has diaphragmatic palsy this affects the right side of his diaphragm, this basically meant the right side was limp, and he had trouble breathing, with the right lung often collapsing. This palsy was a result of the condition that Archie had yet to be diagnosed with. Archie also had strep pneumonia. Combine that with only one good lung and you bet things could go from okay to really bad within a matter of seconds. We even went through a period were he started having seizures. Perhaps due to panic or lack of oxygen. Luckily, neurologists can safely say they had no affect on his brain function, and they soon stopped.




Eventually I stopped watching the numbers and started watching my son. I could tell immediately whether he was about to ‘desaturate’ and if they were unable to ventilate him they would have to start ‘bagging’ him. These are terms I had never heard of before, some kind of foreign language we heard on a daily basis.
 By this stage, they had carried out two MRI’s, a lumber puncture, nerve conduction studies and had done a round of IVIG and steroids to assist with the inflammation they had located in his spine. Initial thoughts were that Archie had Guilliane Barre, but following all these tests, they had moved more towards something called Anterior Horn Cell Disease and Acute Flaccid Myelitis. Which simply put, is a quick onset of paralysis due to an inflammation in the spine. Archie’s anterior horns and nerves had been damaged, and needed time to repair themselves. There have been only two cases in Australia that my neurologist was aware of (I’m sure there are likely more cases), and from what she could gather Archie’s was the most severe.

By this stage Archie was unable to move his legs, his right arm, the right side of his face was paralysed, the right side of his diaphragm also paralysed and he had limited movement in his left arm.
We were researching for as much information about treatment and recovery timeframes as we could, but it was becoming more and more obvious that there was no treatment for AFM, just supportive therapy.


A lot of people have asked could this have been prevented?


The answer is no. If you or I had crossed paths with this virus we may have just gotten a runny nose or felt run down. Archie’s body reacted in his own way. Whilst his immune system was fighting off whatever virus had entered his body, it was also attacking his own nervous system. Archie has tested negative to all viruses.
 By this stage we were given a name for what was wrong with Archie, but other than that, there was not much more that could be said.
We are still in this position, we take every day as it comes and just help Archie in every way we can.
Will post about our milestones soon (via Instagram @archiesfight).


I need to say the biggest thank you. Our hearts have been touched, we have received so much support and kindness from family, friends and complete strangers.

- Chloe

More about Archie's condition and how you can help:


Archie is 2 years old from Newcastle NSW, Australia and has recently been diagnosed with Acute Flaccid Myelitis and Anterior Horn Cell Disease. Archie has spent the last few months in the Intensive Care Unit at John Hunter Hospital in Newcastle.

Acute flaccid myelitis (AFM)
is a condition that affects the nervous system, specifically the spinal cord, which can result from a variety of causes including viral infections. This disease has only been seen in Australia twice before Archie's diagnosis and his is the most severe case they have seen. This disease has caused paralysis in Archie's right arm, both legs and his chest. Archie has been ventilated since his admission in November and only last week underwent a tracheotomy. There is currently no cure for Acute Flaccid Myelitis and therefore Doctor's are relying on information from around the world through other cases of this disease to work out a treatment plan.

Anterior horn disease: Any of a group of diseases that affect the anterior horn cells which make up part of the spinal cord. The anterior horn contains motor neurons which primarily affect the axial muscles. With a long road ahead of him Archie has daily therapy sessions and is improving everyday!! With these 2 disease's being so rare it is unclear how long Archie's full recovery will take but it is expected to take months or years.

Archie's parents Chloe and Alex have been by his side everyday and have recently had to return to work. To make life a bit easier for them there will be an online auction in March with some amazing items from all of your favorite Instagram stores.

Please head on over to support Archie's Fight on Instagram and keep an eye out for the upcoming auction on March 4th.


You can also donate here


*Linked up with Essentially Jess for I Blog On Tuesdays*

Monday, February 1, 2016

How Not To Be An Asshole at a Theatrical Performance

Photo by Simone De Peak

Recently I went to Cirque Du Soleil for my husband's birthday. I'm really clever alright, 'cause I bought him a ticket as a gift; and because I'm such a good wife and didn't want him to go alone I also had to buy one for myself. I'm super thoughtful like that.

The show was at Newcastle Entertainment Centre which, by the way, I've officially vowed never to go to again unless it's for a rodeo or a Food and Wine expo. I've never been to either, it just seems the crappy state of the art stadium would be better suited to those events than a world class performance like CDS. The seats in NEC are the absolute worst! They are grooved on the sides, digging into your butt-cheeks. Honestly, your butt needs to be the size of a small baboon to be even remotely comfortable.