I am not GP.

I'm a mess.

Eyebrows overgrown and all too close to their real colour. Hair regrowth unmentionable. Bags under eyes tattooed on. Abdominal remnants of pregnancy sticking to me like glue. Nail polish on toes 3+ weeks old and chipped to buggery - destined to remain in this hopeless state due to bizarre amnesty on nail polish remover in Port Moresby. (Me to every shop assistant at every chemist: "Hi, I was just wondering if you had any nail polish remover?", them to me: "No.") And still, I continue to search, as though the PNG salesperson frankness was not enough information to go on.

And then there's family life. It is a 24 hour a day affair for me at the moment. Everyone else seems to be getting decent sleep. I suppose my heart should be warmed by all the time I get to watch my beautiful babies and sexy breadwinner sleeping soundly and peacefully. Those wee hours really are a special time. FOR THEM ESPECIALLY AS THEY ARE  ...... A-S-L-E-E-P!

So I breastfeed constantly, do my best to manage the toddler's walk on the wild side (I hope she soon learns that crime ultimately doesn't pay), and absorb the big issues of the day from the busy working world, while cooking dinner, running baths, changing nappies and wiping bottoms. Meanwhile ... my eyebrows continue to grow. I have declared to all under my roof, that it must stop, as I can no longer continue to feel as depicted in the following image:

I am a sow! I am lying on my side with my teats out all day for every member of my family!

As a Goop subscriber however, I receive the occasional email that makes me feel connected to a different universe. And as I read helpful makeup tips, recipes, ideas for a sexy Valentine's Day ("you change the next *&^%ing nappy" was not on it ... woops, bad start to day of romance), and see shots from Canne and the red carpets of the world, I feel more as though I look like this:

If Gwyneth can have it all, surely I can rustle up some old Hollywood celebrity pizzazz in the compound? Clearly there is a disconnect in my online and lived realities. There may be also a mild disconnect between what God gave Gwyneth and me that no amount of on-time waxing can address. 

Don't hold it against me for drawing the thinnest of parallels! A girl has to get by, and if imagining that I somehow have something in common with GP (to her subscribers), then I have to do what I have to do.

Anyway. No point wishing the hard times away ... it all goes so fast .... as every parent with horrible teenagers attests. I am most certainly enjoying the perfect wide cartoon smile of my little guy that greets me every time I put my head over the cot, and when I'm not trying to work out effective and lasting frameworks of reprimand and learning lessons for the girl, I am usually laughing at/with her.

Eg "Mummy would you like a tadpole?" as she offered me one of my tampons at bath time yesterday.

The show must go on!

Domestica

Cool shop. ..... worth checking out, but doesn't ship to Australia! Boo.

Proper vintage

I am thrilled (and amazed) to have found this collection of beautiful handmade dresses recently in Port Moresby. That they ended up here is incredible, that they have remained together for this long is simply crazy.

I picked one out for the fabric, then noticed it was handmade and had a name-tag sewn on with great care. From there, I found another, and another, and another. They are beautifully made garments, so fashionable and of a time.

Florence Kidd of Acacia House.

Why oh why aren't we the same size????

In any case, I will care for this collection of dresses with great pride (and consider a bone reconstruction in the future so that I can have the pleasure of wearing them).

Deco-muse.

My small lady has become my muse.

So much more fun to dress her than me!

So much more fun to decorate her room than mine (at the great expense of ours).

It is devastating to me that our most recent addition to the family is blue, not pink. Devastating, in that so many beautiful things are a one-time only wear. There will be no recipient down the line.

Have decided to hang them instead, what once was, can now be art!

The power of two.

I do not understand how a two-year old can wield so much power over her universe.

How? She is not even 100cm high.

We are having a hell of a time. If I was to relay events of recent weeks in a visual montage with a soundtrack, some of the following images would be sourced:

• Her using all her mini-strength to lift a gerry-can into the shopping trolley while hapless mother searches for toilet paper 
• Her waving her teachers away at school as they try to write her name on her painting <fade in voice over of her yelling "it's not your painting, it's MINE">
• Her four limbs gripping onto me as the teachers pull her off at the beginning of a school day
• The 'love' towards her young sibling which thinly veils her real feelings, and usually ends in some form of mild assault on the baby
• Her sitting on the bathroom floor, unwrapping pads, removing adhesive strips, then sticking them on the floor while helpless mother looks on in the background, with breastfeeding baby attached
• A little hand throwing a handful of eclipse mints into a full bath
• A little lady sitting on her red and yellow mini toilet seat <fade in voice over of her yelling "Daddy I want PRIVACY!">
• A little hand pulling buttons off her dress <fade in voice over of "Mummy, sew my buttons back on!">
• A shot of Mummy pouring wine into a generic looking tumbler with clock in background to indicate 4.10pm
• A repeat of gerry-can shot, as to be honest it was pretty goddamned funny, even to me
• Final shot of sleeping angel cuddling Miffy in bed, which always creates parental amnesia regarding the day's events.

Backing track: You can't always get what you want (for shots of parents despairing) and Superfreak (for all images of toddler crime)

Loser of the week goes to:

The 'man' who thought it okay to beat up a woman in the middle of the day at one of the busiest, most public intersections in Port Moresby causing a massive traffic build up and slowing down/confusing all public transport.

So disgusting.

There was nothing I could have done, but I did wonder if perhaps one of the many burly guys who were casually waiting for their bus and looking on might have been able to assist? No, of course not. Endemic.

As we drove past the scene I started talking to my two year old passenger, desperately trying to avert attention to the other side of the car (successful!). I looked at the bus stop one last time, and saw a little boy around the same age, sitting there with his grandmother with front row seats. Totally non-plussed. Even they were nothing more than casual onlookers.

In sum: very happy I live in a parallel universe.

Grizzle spreads.

Two screaming kids before breakfast (mine, not theirs) really has a way of sapping the life out of a Monday morning.

Not that I had much 'life' to begin with - our baby woke up hourly for one reason or another from 12am-6am, and then when a window of rest finally opened, the our two year old lady arrived in our bed for company, and to issue me with some demands, eg 'Mummy don't feed the baby', 'Mummy he doesn't need to be on your lap' etc etc.

In any case - I was and remain ready to abandon the family temporarily for a quick trip to Tahiti should my sleep remain so interrupted and my kids so grizzly. What else is there to do?

The breadwinner left nervously for work this morning and whispered ' ...You can't leave .... I don't know what to do.'

I like his honesty. And it is probably the only thing anyone has said to me this morning that approaches funny.

So I'll stay. At least until lunch.